


In Wonder, Steady Going Under

by HeadStrongHeadLights



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, an unnecessary amount of alcohol, illegal street fighting, more to be added - Freeform, pretty boys making terrible decisions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:31:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 37,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4962490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadStrongHeadLights/pseuds/HeadStrongHeadLights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> It wasn't supposed to be like this. The fighting was only supposed supply good money to help out back home. Liam didn't mean to get caught up with the mafia. He didn't mean to put a price on his head. He didn't mean to fall for the Father's son. </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(AKA the mafia!au where Liam's an underground street fighter and Zayn's the son of the most powerful man on the East coast.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo.... Probably shouldn't be starting a new multi-chapter fic when I had to put my other one on hiatus. Doing it anyways because it's me. This is my fair warning that it will get incredibly violent. The amount of knowledge and research that I have over how the mob works is rather concerning and it will show in the story. I don't quite know what else to say. I'll put up a warning at the beginning of each chapter, depending on what happens. If you need something tagged, just let me know. Also, updates will be incredibly sporadic. 
> 
> Title comes from the song "Twice" by Little Dragon. I love that song it sort of sets the mood for the whole story. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think.

Days bleed into one another, without failing. Eat, sleep, fight, fuck. Eat, sleep, fight, fuck. Repeat. On constant. They say repetition makes a man grow dull. Whoever they are, they’re right. 

Liam can feel the blood dripping from his split lip, the taste is coating his tongue. He wipes his face with a pristine white towel, staining it red. Throws it back to Niall somewhere behind him and gears himself up for another round with the neanderthal. Despite the solid couple of inches and the 30 plus extra pounds that he has on Liam, he’s not going to win. It doesn’t take a genius to know who’s actually going home the winner. 

The other guy, some heavy hitter reigning champion, is swaying dangerously on his feet, unable to keep himself up. Liam grins, showing off bloody teeth to cheers and jeers. Two hits left before the other bloke’s out. 

First hit; Liam’s fist to this fucker’s jaw. Second hit is him hitting the floor. 

His opponent growls at him, lips pulled back to show the gaps in between the rotting teeth. His dark skin is glistening with sweat and the coarse dark hair that’s not braided back is matted to his forehead. One eye is milky white with a thick scar running over it and the other is unfocused. Yeah, this isn’t going to last much longer. 

The air in the club is musty, stale with the heavy odor of cigar smoke, hard liquor, and a coppery tang mixed with sweat. The lights everywhere but the ring are dimmed. Times like this, moments of stark clarity when he isn’t focused on not getting his ass kicked, Liam wishes he could write poetry to describe the ambience and capture its artistry. To make something dirty into something beautiful. But he can’t, so he doesn’t and the moment passes. 

The bell rings. Two hits later, it rings again. 

Liam stands above his fallen opponent, fists still raised as the crowd speaks. The winning bets head off to collect while the losers cry foul, yelling at the poor bastard passed out on the floor to wake up and kick his ass. It’s not gonna happen, the fucker’s out cold. 

Niall must’ve jumped the ropes because he’s pulled Liam into a headlock. “Ya did it mate! We made so much money! Aye, I’ve never seen such green and I’m fockin’ Irish,” Niall grins. He shoves the massive wad of bills in Liam’s face, making the boxer laugh. 

“I can see that. Come on, let’s get out of here before they start looking for compensation for the money they just lost,” Liam replied, grabbing the Irishman’s elbow and leading him out the ring. 

There was a man sitting in a far corner that had been watching him all night, facial expressions completely devoid of emotion. Liam may not have graduated high school but he wasn’t stupid. That man would be coming for his ass. He threw on a shirt and a hoodie, grabbed his bag and Niall, and then left as fast as he could.

They ducked out the back, heads down with their hoods up. Like a goddamn cliché, once they were in the alley behind the club, the man stepped out of the shadows. A couple of his goons followed, blocking off every avenue of escape.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” Liam asked, holding his hands out. He sized up the man as he stepped forward. Tan skin, black hair slicked back, all black suit, definite crime lord. At least, a higher up. 

“Actually, you can.” The man stepped close enough to him that Liam could pick up the rich tobacco from the cigar that still linger on the man’s lips. It was almost too sweet and he wanted to gag as it mixed horribly with the overwhelmingly heavy cologne that clung to the man’s skin. 

“See, my boss is a very wealthy, very powerful man. He had a lot of money riding on this fight tonight. Only, it wasn’t on you. It should have been, considering the grace with which you fought. Regardless, he lost a large sum because of you,” the man said, eyeing him like a bug behind his shoe. 

Liam wasn’t intimidated, just annoyed. “Is there a point to this or are you just going to waste my time?” he snapped. The other men stepped forward, only to be stopped when the guy held up a hand. Like all of this was just an inconvenience. Like it was Liam who was stalling and not the other way around. 

“Ballsy, I’ll give him that.” The man sneered. Liam’s blood surged. 

“I don’t want you to give me anything, just your goddamn point. Either tell me what you want or stop wasting my fucking time,” Liam growled, stepping forward so that he was in the other man’s face. He was physically unruffled, though his eyes took on a shade of anger.

“What we want is the money you stole.”

Niall spoke up. “We didn’t steal shite. We earned it, fair and square. It’s underground street fightin’. Ya don’t get to bitch and complain when you lose. Suck it up and move on. I’m sure your boss is an understanding man, I’m sure he’ll understand that ya focked up.” 

The man’s nostrils flared. Liam wanted to deck him in the face. “Shut your mouth you Irish drunkard.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck did ya just call me, mate?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” the man snarled, creeping forward. Someone cleared their throat. 

“Is there a problem here?” 

Before Liam could say or do anything, the man suddenly jumped back away from him. His eyes were wide with fear as he stared past Liam and Niall. 

“Mr. Malik, I-“

“Save it. Father won’t be happy to hear about this. You know how he feels about pathetic attempts at intimidation.” 

The man was visibly deflated as he gestured for his men to follow him onto the street. As soon as he was completely out of sight, Liam finally turned around to see who interrupted their little meeting and was surprised by what his eyes were met with. 

The newcomer was about his height, maybe a few inches shorter. He slightly resembled the man threatening him but was much better looking by a long shot. Amber eyes, black hair, tan unblemished skin, a bit scruff. He didn’t look real. He was also wearing a full black suit. What Liam unintentionally got fixated on was the black umbrella he was holding over his head despite the late hour and the fact that there were literally no clouds in the sky. 

“I apologize for my friend. He’s a bit…” the man trailed off, expression taking on a tone of quiet contemplation. 

“Of a jackass?” Liam supplied, a bit of leftover annoyance creeping into his voice. The man chuckled. It sounded sweet, almost like honey. 

“A bit,” he agreed. “Once again, I apologize. By the way, congratulations on your win. I’m sure it was a good fight. I'm sorry I missed it.”

Liam couldn’t deny that he was stunned by the comment. He was also fairly certain it showed in his delayed reaction. “Thank you.” It was all he could think to say. Even then, he didn’t feel like it was enough. 

The man smiled, though it had a bit of a plastic edge to it. Honestly, it struck Liam’s curiosity but he didn’t get much time to think about it. The man glanced behind him and sighed lightly. “You’re welcome. I’ll be off then. Have a good night lads.” He turned and walked out of the alley. That’s when Liam noticed the black Camaro sitting at the curb, the windows just as dark as the body of the car. No way to tell how many were sitting inside. 

Niall and he waited until the car was gone before reacting. “What the fock just ‘appened?” Niall asked, sounded as astonished as Liam felt. He didn’t know how to respond so he just told the truth. 

“I honestly have no fucking clue.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing truly note worthy, just a thank you for the response that this story has already gotten. Also, un-betaed. Any and all mistakes are mine.

Liam thinks nothing of the meeting with the men in black. A week passes and the event is no longer even a vague presence in his mind. He gets wrapped up in training, pushing himself so far that he feels sick. Every night he trains, goes home, showers, goes to his favorite club, and gets a back room with the prettiest girl he can afford. Being a prize winner means he can get his pick of the crops for free if he wants but, well, everybody’s gotta make a living. 

Niall doesn’t mention the back alley meeting either. He’s too busy going around, dropping subtle hints to the right people about Liam’s upcoming fight next Tuesday night, like it doesn’t happen every week like clockwork. He’s pushing Liam harder and harder in the gym, making him work. Liam’s not stupid, he knows Niall talks big. Somebody has to carry through. And he will. It’s just what he does. They both have their role to play. And play it they will. 

They don’t talk about the man who pretty much saved their asses. 

Liam wonders if they should’ve. 

Because the next time they see him, he’s sitting in the back corner table. Liam knows that he has a clear view to the ring without having to get up. That’s the most sought after table. Normally there’s a fight for it. Nobody approaches him the entire time he’s sitting there. 

The first fight starts right at 6 o’clock. The bell rings and the fists fly. Tonight, Liam doesn’t go up until 8. Good. Normally, he stays in his corner. Watches his future opponents, learns their strengths and weaknesses, picks out their flaws. Tonight though, tonight he goes up to the beautiful man. 

He’s not sitting alone. Two guys, about Liam’s age, are sitting with him. One on either side. Here’s the thing. They look intimidating. But really, they’re like new born pups compared to some of the guys Liam’s gone against. He isn’t stupid though. He’s knows they’re mob. He’s knows that they could pop a cap in his head just for approaching them without a prior appointment. 

Here’s another thing. He also knows that the beautiful man won’t because he’s curious. His expression might be stoic but his eyes give him away. The only expressive thing about him. 

“What brings you gentlemen in tonight?” Liam asks, throwing out an air of casualty. His nonchalance unnerves them, he can read it in their body language. The man on the left shifts, tailored suit jacket sliding enough to show the glock sitting at the waistband. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

“Heard there was a fight tonight. Was wondering if it would be any good,” the man on the right says, leaning back in the booth. Liam is taken aback by how high his voice is but holds his tongue. He has a fight to win. He might not need all his limbs but it would be nice to have them anyways. 

“Can’t say. Haven’t seen the other guy,” Liam replies, shrugging lightly. He catches the sight of amber eyes appraising him, somehow making him feel both important and unworthy. It’s an odd feeling and it sort of unsettles him. Not enough to let it show. 

The bell rings behind him. The crowd does its usual cheers and jeers. Liam and the man make eye contact. It doesn’t break as the next round begins. 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine. I heard great things about the last fight, in between men cursing your name to the high heavens and the shit spewing from their mouth,” Amber Eyes tells him. Liam blinks, admittedly caught off guard by the vulgar language. 

It’s not like he hasn’t heard it before, for fuck’s sake, he lives with an Irishman. It just, it didn’t seem to fit someone who was so classy and elegant. Because that’s what Amber Eyes was. Tailored black suit, thick dark hair slicked back though it somehow still looked soft, neatly trimmed scruff. Honestly, every girl’s wet dream. The kind of man you know you shouldn’t trust but you do anyway against your best judgement. 

“You know, I never did hear your name though. The just talk about the lad with the killer right hook,” Amber Eyes says, index finger tracing along the rim of glass that held a drink the same color as his eyes. 

“What do I get if I tell you?” Liam asks, feeling a bit more ballsy than he normally would. Amber eyes and his friends laugh. There’s a hint of malice but not enough for him to raise his guard. He stands his ground. Keeps his eyebrow raised. Waits for a response. 

“I’ll give you mine,” he tells him, a plastic smile on his face. Liam can’t deny that the offer is tempting. He already has Amber Eyes’ last name. The first name would be more beneficial as to figuring out who the fuck this guy is. Comes from money and power. Somebody’s gotta know him. 

“It’s Liam,” he states. The bell rings behind him, the sound making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He doesn’t let it show on his face. Something in him tells him that he shouldn’t show fear in front of these men. It won’t end well if he does. 

He keeps his face blank as he glances behind him, sees Niall waving at him to hurry the fuck up. He holds up a hand, much to Niall’s apparent frustration. The man looks amused. His friends, not so much. The short, scruffy lookin’ one looks ready to wring his neck. 

“I have to go. I need to get ready,” Liam hints, jerking his head towards the ring. Amber Eyes’ lips quirk, amused. Doesn’t reach his eyes. Liam wasn’t expecting it to. 

“Okay.” 

Liam didn’t know that it was possible but his eyebrow went higher. “Well?” A bit of unintentional irritation crept into his voice. The guy must’ve heard it because he looked very unimpressed. Like Liam was the one being the asshole. 

“Well, what?” 

Liam definitely rolled his eyes, not even bothering to try to repress it. Some people. Honestly. “Am I going to get your name?”

“Consider my name to be incentive. If you win, I’ll give it to you,” he replies, shrugging his shoulder. 

“How can you be so sure that I want it that bad?”

“You do.” Literally no room for argument. Liam could see that Niall was getting incredibly antsy and was about to head over. He held up one finger and he could actually hear the Irishman groan. “Good luck.” 

Liam decided to end it there. He really didn’t need Niall dragging him to the ring by ear (he’s already done it once and Liam really doesn’t want a repeat performance). He starts stripping before he even reaches his corner. He throws the clothes into the blonde’s face, making him squawk indignantly. He could hear the other man lecturing him but Liam didn’t focus on him. 

No, he was focusing on Amber Eyes. 

It wasn’t really something that Liam had wanted to get fixated on, especially before a fight but now he has to admit to himself that there had to be a reason. Of course, he knew the reason but was having a little trouble being honest with himself. 

As Niall taped up his hands, Liam found his gaze wandering towards the back table, where Amber Eyes and his companions were sitting. The companions were having what looked to be a in depth discussion around the man. Who was staring right at him, expression completely devoid of any emotion. All Liam could think about, looking at the man, was that he was like an iceberg. There was something more below the surface. It made him curious. More so than he wanted to admit. 

Through the sheer force of willpower, Liam pulled his attention away from the man and focused on his opponent. It was some Arnold Schwarzenegger look alike thirty years ago. He wouldn’t be hard. Liam’s seen him fight before. It wouldn’t take much to knock him down. 

The bell rings and the fight goes like this;

Right hook. Duck. Quick one two. Dodge. Swift uppercut. Arnold hits the floor. Stares at the ceiling with empty, blurry eyes. 

It was almost disappointing. Not really. 

Liam looked into the crowd. Spotted Amber Eyes, one groomed eyebrow raised with an expression of mild surprise with a bit of impressed mixed in. They made eye contact. Amber Eyes’ took a drink of his beverage, not once breaking the connection. Liam was man enough to admit to himself that it was hot, watching him swallow the drink. Had to wonder what he would look like on his knees, deepthroating his cock. That thought was pushed away before his dick could show real interest. Popping a boner in the middle of the ring before another round was not a good idea. 

Liam wanted to go up to him and talk to him again. To hear that honey silk voice. To finally get the name. He didn’t realize how much he wanted it until that moment. He wanted to know what it would taste like on his tongue. 

Arnold staggered back up to his feet, angry but dazed. Liam gazed at him, questioning but condescending. He shifted back into starting position, fists raised. Bell rang. 

One hit. 

Arnold hit the floor. 

Didn’t get back up. Wasn’t moving. The “ref” checked his pulse and then gave a thumbs up. 

Bell rang again. Liam gets declared the winner because Arnold isn’t getting up. Isn’t even waking up. Liam kinda looks at him for a moment and then shrugs. Not his problem. Most of the bets must’ve on him because the crowd is cheering quite loudly. Good. 

He clears out of the ring, takes the towel offered by Niall, and wipes his face down. He puts his shirt back on and shoves his arms into his hoodie. Doesn’t bother putting back on his sweatpants considering that he’s actually quite hot. Those lights make you sweat more than the actual fights sometimes. All the time. 

Niall doesn’t spare him another look at he heads to the bar, already aware of where Liam’s going. Good guy. Good priorities. 

Amber Eyes is alone, both of his companions having disappeared. He’s not nervous. Neither of them are. 

“So,” Liam states. 

“So,” Amber Eyes’ replies. There’s amusement sparkling in his gaze. It’s cute. 

“I won.” Liam drags a chair from a nearby table and pulls it up, directly across from the other man. He nods.

“That you did. Congratulations, by the way.” He raised his glass in a mock toast. 

“Thank you. As I hope you’ve guessed by now, I’ve come to collect my prize,” Liam says, a bit seductively. Amber Eyes looks entertained. Not quite what he was going for but hey, whatever works. 

“It’s Zayn,” he replies, finishing his drink. Liam studies him and decides, yeah. That’s pretty fitting. Exotic name for an exotic man. 

“Beautiful, just like you.” Liam says playfully. Zayn actually throws his head back and laughs. It a bright sound. Liam can’t even find it in himself to be offended. 

“Cute. Do you use that line on everyone?” he asks, chin in hand. His eyes are twinkling. Liam idly wonders how often that actually happens. Then he wonders if it’s even real but he doesn’t push his luck. 

“Just you. How’d you get so lucky?” Liam answers. He can see the companions approaching out of the corner of his eye. Zayn must see them too because he straightens up, just a little. Interesting. 

“I’ll never know. It looks like I must be going. It was nice meeting you Liam. Once again, congrats on the fight.” With that, he gets up and leaves. Liam noted with a hint of envy that he got out of the booth with grace, a feat that he himself knows he could never pull off. 

Zayn never once looks back. 

Liam knows that later tonight, when he’s trying to fall asleep, he’s not going to be able to because he’s going to be trying to figure out why. On the bright side, he now has a name. Now, he can start figuring out just who Zayn Malik is.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally the slowest fucking chapter but I couldn't make it longer or add anything else without it sounding hella awkward so take this short thing and enjoy it. 
> 
> Un-betaed. All mistakes are mine.

It hits Liam in the middle of his training. He pauses, fists still up but stance is slack. Niall looks confused, which is how Liam feels so it’s pretty nice to know that they’re on the same page.

“Ya alright mate?” Niall asks, stepping around the punching bag to see his friend clearly. 

“Yeah. At least, I think so?” Liam replies, scrunching his face up. Honestly, no idea. Niall didn’t seem to buy it, which was both a blessing and a curse. 

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’s eatin’ at ya? Ya ‘aven’t been ‘ere mentally since the foght the other noght,” the Irishman points out. Liam shrugs then rubs the back of his neck. After a miniature mental debate, he decides to tell his best friend. But not here. Not in public where someone can overhear. 

“Let’s call it a day, yeah?” Liam says, taking off the boxing gloves. He wipes his face down with a towel and throws it into his gym bag, ignoring Niall’s protests behind him. He throws on his shirt and grabs his bag, leaving the gym quickly. 

No, there really wasn’t a reason as to why he was rushing out of there so fast. Well, there kind of was. He really did want to tell his friend but his paranoia made him a lot more cautious than he normally would be. Public places meant someone could overhear and if the wrong person heard it, then who knows? It was just a gut feeling, but Liam has long since learned that you don’t ignore something like that.

Niall was chasing after him. Liam continued the trek to their shared apartment, not once breaking stride. The Irishman didn’t question him, just accepted what was happening but complained loudly about how hungry he was. 

In no time, they reached their apartment. The moment the door shut and was locked, Niall rounded on him and levelled him with such an even stare down that Liam felt like a chastised child even though he hadn’t done anything. 

“Ya gonna explain why we left so early into the session?” Niall asked, raising an eyebrow. It was honestly pretty strange seeing him so serious but Liam figured that this situation called for it. 

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I can try?” Liam replied, trying to organize his thoughts. He knew what he wanted to ask but it was more of a mental block kind of a thing. He wasn’t totally sure he wanted to know. It would put a name to his suspicions and he wasn’t sure how onboard he was with that. 

Niall waits. He sits down at the counter and turns the chair to face him. Really, just the setting reminded Liam of a parent catching their child sneaking in after a night out and was waiting for a good excuse. It should not have been as unnerving as it was. 

“Okay, so you know the guy I was talking to before my fight the other night?” Niall nods. “I got his name and the thing is I want to know more about him but I have no idea how to go about doing so. Remember when that guy confronted us in the alley a couple weeks ago? The way he just submitted to him? I just, I want to know who he is. Like, just how much power he has. Something is telling me that he’s a gangster but I don’t know what rank,” Liam rushed out. He was pacing as he tried to explain what he was thinking but he felt like he missed the mark pretty badly. Judging by Niall’s expression, he might’ve. 

“And?” Niall asked, waving his hand. Good, Liam hasn’t completely lost him yet. 

“I can’t explain it really. I just, I feel drawn to him. I want to know more about him but I don’t know how to go about it. I don’t want to go asking around because, like, I don’t want to catch the attention of the wrong people. I need to keep as much heat off of me as possible. The thing is though, something about him is sticking with me and I just. I need to know more,” Liam finished, 90% certain he lost his friend somewhere along the line. Going off of his expression, he probably did. 

“Let me get this straight,” Niall started, after a solid couple of minutes of thinking. “You are interested in this guy, who could quite possibly be a crime lord.” 

Well, that’s one way to sum it up. Liam nodded. Niall sighed and rubbed his face. 

“There’s no talking you out of this, is there?” Liam shakes his head. “Alright, let’s ‘ave it then. What’s his name?” 

“Zayn Malik.” 

Niall jaw drops. Like, it hits the floor. “Are you fockin’ jokin’ wit me mate? Zayn Malik is who you were talkin’ to?” Now Liam was the one who was lost. 

“Do you know something about him?” 

“Of course, that’s the bloke you would take interest in.” Niall mutters to himself. He gets up and paces the room himself, running a hand through his hair. 

Liam can’t say that he’s not confused. Because he is. Heavily. He waits. And waits. After a few minutes, Niall seems to come to some conclusion because he stops. Faces Liam. 

“Alright. I know a little about ‘im. I can’t tell you much. I don’t even know how much of any of this is true. So listen carefully,” Niall states, staring him down.

There’s something in his tone of voice that’s just off enough that he agrees. To what, no idea. But still, the fighter takes the blonde’s old seat and waits for him to collect his thoughts. 

“Okay, Zayn Malik is the son of Yaser Malik. Who’s the head of the family.”

Liam gives him a blank stare. Niall groans in frustration. The fighter tries to not take it personally. 

“The mafia. Yaser Malik is the don. He’s head honcho of the mafia. His son, Zayn, is next in line of succession to become the head of the family. He doesn’t work for the family, he CONTROLS the family. He can put men to death just for lookin’ at ‘im wrong. Are you understanding this?” Niall asks, sounding… Scared? He looks like it. He’s running a hand through his hair, tugging on the blonde strands harshly. 

“Yes?” Liam won’t lie. He honestly had no idea. But in hindsight, that actually makes a lot of sense. The authority which he used when dealing with that one guy. The grace with which he carries himself. It really does make sense so Liam’s not that surprised. But that doesn’t explain why Niall’s so afraid. So he asks. 

“We’ve been seen with ‘im. He’s saved us. We owe ‘im. The moment you owe the family, you can never pay them back. We are going to be forever indebted to them. How are you not seeing this problem?” Niall was now sounding officially freaked out. It’s not something that Liam ever wants to see on him again. No idea how to fix so he decided to just let it run its course. 

“I highly doubt that has anything to do with, well, anything. He didn’t mention anything about it when I was talking to him,” Liam tells him. Niall doesn’t really seem comforted by that but honestly, Liam didn’t expect him to be. “When I see him again, I’ll ask him about it.”

That caught Niall’s attention. “Wat. When are you seein’ ‘im again?” 

Liam shrugs. “I just have a feeling.” 

Niall groans and throws himself face down on their couch. “We’re so focked.” 

Liam couldn't really disagree with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thank you for reading that. I know it's boring and slow but it's necessary for the next chapter. The only reason I updated tonight, not that any of you care, but I was really inspired by MGK's new album WHICH JUST DROPPED. So good, just so good. Sorry, I'm like all over the place.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited, as usual. Shit goes down, people get hurt. Exciting stuff. 
> 
> Also, main villain is going to be an OC. I know that turns some people off but I just couldn't bring myself to use a real person, mostly because I couldn't think of anyone to use. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I have literally no medical knowledge. This is all research and based on a story that may or may not be true. 
> 
> **WARNINGS:** some mildly disturbing imagery. (I'm a terrible judge of how bad it is because to me it seems not that bad but some people are sensitive to it so... yeah. Proceed with caution.)

It wouldn’t be until almost two weeks later that Liam would realize just how fucked he was. It wasn’t solely because of his association with Zayn. No, that would be too easy. Really, he should’ve known that the guy that had cornered them in the alley that fateful night a few weeks ago would be a fucking problem. 

Really. This was his life. Liam had no idea how he got here. It was definitely not by making good decisions that’s for sure. 

Moving on, It happened on a Thursday. Capital. Major event. Needs to be remembered as that. 

(Little did Liam know at the time, it would be a catalyst for events to come. He never did take good notes in school. Looking back, he should’ve have. Would’ve helped more so in the long run.)

Liam and Niall were at the X with a few companions of theirs. It was a well-known burlesque club that actually put on good performances every week if you could time it right. The owner was a pretty chill guy, major douche if you aren’t careful. But he seemed to like Niall and him no problem. 

Again, moving on, the night was like any other. Except for one minor detail. 

Here’s the thing, they left later than normal. Now, any other night, it would’ve been no problem. Tonight though, tonight, there was someone waiting for them. Quite a few someones actually. 

Liam immediately pushed Niall behind him. The Irishman can hold his own in a fight, but Liam’s a protective motherfucker. It’s in his nature. 

“Fancy seeing you boys here,” the man drawled, still nameless and still wearing that shitty cheap cologne. The fighter rolled his eyes, not really in the mood to play games with this asshole. 

“What do you want?” he growled. The man lifted his hands up in a mock-surrender, effectively pissing Liam off more. 

“Come on, can’t I chat with a few friends?” he asked, the fakest pout on his lips. 

“Last time I checked, we aren’t friends. I don’t even know your name,” Liam snapped, stepping forward. 

“That’s not important,” he dismissed, checking his nails. 

“It will be when they have to write your fucking obituary,” Liam said, cracking his knuckles. He saw a flicker of fear pass through the man’s eyes. Good.

Two of his crew stepped forward. About the same size Liam normally fights. The difference, he knows they’re packing heat. An unfair advantage if he ever saw one. There’s literally no way that this can end well. He’s seen enough fucking mob movies to know how this ends. Someone’s going out in a body bag. 

Another little tidbit of information; Liam may typically box to make his money. It’s… safer. But he’s trained in MMA too. 

It goes like this;

Goon on the left is reaching for his gun, too slow on the draw. Liam rushes him and pushes the heel of his palm into the middle of his forearm, snapping the bone. Swift roundhouse to the ribs drops the guy to the ground like a rock. Another kick to the head knocks him out. 

Liam uses the momentum to do another roundhouse kick to the jaw of the other goon. He stumbles, tripping and landing in the trash. He tries to get up, but Liam’s there first, kicking him in the femur, snapping the bone clean. With a cry, he collapses back into the trash where he belongs. 

The fighter wipes his sweat from his brow, looking at the guy who started this. His tan skin has gone a few shades paler. His eyes are just that much bigger. Looks like he’s about three seconds from pissing himself. 

But then, something changes. It happens faster than Liam can anticipate. There’s a flash and then a sharp, stabbing pain in his thigh. 

The fucker had pulled a switch blade and had stabbed Liam about mid-thigh. This is where the guy made his biggest mistake; he left the knife in. 

Liam grips the handle, pulls in a straight motion, and the knife comes out. Probably not his best idea because now he’s bleeding, pretty profusely actually, but fuck it. He slams the dick against the wall and presses his arm across the guy’s throat. Ah. Now, there’s the fear. 

He digs the tip of the blade into the soft skin under the man’s jaw, just to make him sweat. Liam’s no killer. Never have been, fingers crossed he never will be. Doesn’t mean he can’t have his fun though. 

“Gonna give me your name now asshole?” Liam whispered, twisting the blade. The guy whimpers. 

“It’s Shayne.” 

“You gotta last name boy?” Liam increased the pressure. The situation was so surreal. It was… Empowering but in a very sickening way. It didn’t feel right. He didn’t let it show. He’s come too far to back down now. 

“Malik! It’s Malik,” he squeaked. Liam couldn’t quite keep the surprise off his face. The guy didn’t see it, his eyes squeezed shut. 

The fighter considered this. Considered a lot of things actually. He pulled back from the guy, loosening the pressure on his neck some. Just a little. 

He flipped the knife in his hand and stabbed it into Shayne’s shoulder. He screamed in pain, hand coming up to try to pull it out. Liam’s hand still covered the handle and the guy couldn’t get enough purchase to try to pry it off. 

“Listen to me carefully. I’m only going to say this once. Understand?” A frantic nod. “You don’t pull this shit again. You leave me and him alone. Otherwise, next time, it won’t be your shoulder. It’ll be your fucking throat. Got it?” Another nod. “Good.” 

He lets go and stands back, letting the man rush past him. The adrenaline that had his blood boiling was gone and now all he felt was fatigue. Couple that with the blood loss and well, he wasn’t doing so good. 

Niall rushed to his side, sliding under his arm to help him take the pressure off his bad leg. The entire pant leg from the wound down was a dark crimson color. Well, that explained the dizziness.

“What. The ever-lovin’ fock. Was that?” Niall asked, staring after the guy. Liam shook his head, immediately regretting said action. He stumbled, while standing still, forcing Niall to tightening his hold. “Okay. First things first, let’s get that taken care of.” 

Carefully, they made their way back inside, heading towards the back. Normally, the dimly lit hallway would bother Liam, but tonight he was grateful for the low lights. 

Niall knocked on the second to last door, revealing a dark skinned girl. She was out of costume, dressed in her street clothes. Leigh-Anne did not seem that happy to see them. To be honest, Liam couldn’t really blame her. 

“What the hell happened to you?” she asked, ushering them inside. She shut and locked the door behind them, after checking the hallway to make sure they weren’t followed. 

“Got jumped by some fockin’ psycho. He pulled a fockin’ knife on Liam and stabbed him,” Niall explained, setting Liam down in her chair. Leigh-Anne tsked them. 

“Idiots, the both of you. Honestly. I’m going to be late for class,” she snapped, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. She pulled out her first aid kit and settled in front of Liam. She pulled his pants down, revealing the gash. It was deep and fairly jagged. “Did you pull the knife out yourself?” she asked. She applied pressure to the wound, attempting to slow the stream of blood that was currently pouring out. 

“Yeah,” Liam slurred. He was starting to get a little fuzzy around the edges now. Obviously nothing to worry about. They lapsed into silence, taking a moment to ponder the situation that they all found themselves in. Well, Liam was trying to focus on staying awake but the point remains. 

The bleeding was finally slowing down after a nerve-wracking amount of time. 

“Fucking hell. Boys. This is going to need stitches,” she muttered, setting to work. She disinfected the area with a couple of alcohol wipes and threaded a needle. 

Niall raised an eyebrow at that. “Since when do you carry a suture kit with ya?” 

Leigh-Anne rolled her eyes but started to work, quick but steady and careful. Liam was impressed. She would make a fine ER nurse once she got her degree. “Since I became friends with you two. Goddamn.”

Niall pushed a bottle of water into Liam’s hand. He drained half the bottle in one swallow, not realizing how thirsty he was. He leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. It was nothing noteworthy, just the same dark maroon as the rest of the room. There was some sort of pattern but he couldn’t make head or tails of it. He was unsure if it was because of the blood loss or because it was just confusing. 

Liam couldn’t really feel anything that the girl was doing, it was all just sort of a dull numbness. It caught him off guard when she finished and slapped a bandage on it. 

“You’re already done?” he asked, noticing that he was feeling marginally better but not by much. 

Leigh-Anne nodded as she stripped her gloves and trashed them. “Yeah, it didn’t really take that long. I suggest that you go home, eat something, and then sleep. You’re going to need it. Drink a lot of water. Change the bandages ever couple of hours. Don’t pull the stitches. If it gets infected, go to the hospital immediately. Also, try to stay off of it the best you can. No fighting. I’ve done all I can. You got very lucky it missed anything important,” she said, cleaning up the mess. 

“Thank you so much,” Liam replied, hoping that Niall caught all that because it sort of just went over his head. Leigh-Anne nodded again, putting her hands on her hips. 

“Listen, as much as I care about you, I really don’t want this to become a regular thing okay? I don’t mind patching you up after a bad fight, but I have a feeling that this was some mob level shit. I don’t want to get involved in that,” she stated. 

“I understand. This was just a fluke, I swear,” Liam told her, pushing himself up enough to pull up his pants. The numbness was fading to a weird tingling sensation that he noted but didn’t mention. They’d already made her late enough as it was. 

“It better have been,” she muttered. “Can you guys get home okay?” 

“Yeah, I think we’ll manage,” Niall said. Liam agreed and that was enough to satisfy her. After a hug from each of the boys, she headed out.

After a few more minutes, the boys got themselves situated and followed her lead. 

~*~*~*~

Liam’s at his fight next week. He’s in his corner, keeping as much pressure off his bad leg as he can while waiting for his round to start. The fighter isn’t looking for him but he sees Zayn, sitting at his table with his two companions like he has been for the past couple of weeks. Hasn’t missed a fight yet. 

He won’t lie, it makes Liam a little curious. But, he won’t ask. Doesn’t think he’ll get a straight answer. Doesn’t even know if he wants to know. 

His left leg throbs in anticipation. He won’t tell Niall this, never will, but he isn’t feeling that confident in this fight. 

Liam knows he’s good. But he can barely stand with the wound. He has no idea how he’s going to pull this off. Plus, the sick feeling he had when he was fighting Shayne, when he stabbed him actually, it’s still there. It’s lingering in the back of his mind. 

Normally, he’s not the kind of guy to do that. If it had been, say, a few months ago even, he would’ve just disarmed the bastard. But he came _so close_ to just slitting his throat. It scares him. No. It terrifies him because he doesn’t know if he feels guilty about it. Doesn’t know what he feels honestly. It’s the thought though. It keeps distracting him. 

Niall’s noticed. Hasn’t said anything yet, but Liam’s waiting. It’s coming. It has to be. 

With an exorbitant amount of willpower, Liam pulls his attention to the guys going at it in the ring. It’s been a fairly even match so far. Nothing worth mentioning. 

Against his will, his focus is being drawn back to Zayn. Who’s watching him with appraising eyes and a faint frown painted on his lips. His companions aren’t paying any attention to him, too enamored with pounding back drinks and smoking cigarettes in between. 

Not for the first time, he has to wonder what even Zayn’s fascination with him is.

They haven’t spoken since the first time he saw the mob boss’ son there. It doesn’t seem like his kind of place. It’s stale air, dim lighting, thick smoke, cheap cologne, stained flooring, and a splintering bar. The men who frequent this fine establishment work at the shipping yard or in construction. 

Not to be shallow or judgmental, he just doesn’t look like he belongs here, what with his fine clothing and pristine appearance. 

Liam drags his mind away when the final bell rings, one guy standing victorious over the other. It was fairly clean, barely any blood on the mat. In ten minutes, it’ll be his turn. Can’t wait. 

Time flies. It really does. He blinks and then he’s standing in the ring, hands already taped and stripped of both his shirt and sweatpants. The basketball shorts he’s wearing feel thinner than normal, or maybe that’s just his paranoia. 

Mental slap. Focus. Needs to win. The guy he’s up against towers over him by a solid half a foot. Built like a brick house. He’s missing teeth and his nose has definitely been broken more than once. 

The first round goes like this:

The guy is slow but he hits hard. Liam gets in three good shots before his opponent lands a solid right hook straight into his jaw. He stumbles, wincing as he puts too much weight onto his bad leg. He catches himself though. Throws himself at the other guy, breaking his nose for probably the hundredth time. 

The bell rings and they separate into their respective corners. Liam’s limping, he can’t hide it. 

Niall wipes the sweat from his face and forces his water into his hand. “What ‘appened?” he whispers. Liam shakes his head. 

“I lost my footing when he hit me.”

The Irishman makes a noise of frustration. “I knew I shouldn’t’ve let you fight,” he growled. Liam shakes his head again. 

“No, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. We need the money. We can’t afford to miss a fight. Don’t be stupid about this okay? I know what I’m doing,” Liam tells him. Niall looks to be about three seconds from strangling him. 

“Fine, but if you die, I’m bringin’ you back to murder you meself,” Niall snaps. 

Liam nods as the bell rings. He pushes himself up, trying desperately to hide how much his leg is killing him. He skipped the illegal pain pills. He’s beginning to wish he hadn’t. 

The second round goes like this;

There’s a lot of ducking and dodging on Liam’s end. The other fighter caught on to his handicap and seems determined to exploit it. Liam catches on and uses his injury as bait, catching the guy in the temple with a very powerful left hook. He crumples to the ground, eyes shut. The round gets called and Liam wins. 

Thank fucking God because he needs to take some pressure off his leg. It’s trembling so badly he’s worried about it giving out on him. In front of all these people who just lost a lot of money. 

Niall helps him out of the ring and back into his street clothes. He leans against the ropes, just trying to breathe. Someone comes up to him. He cracks an eye open and sees Zayn standing right in front of him, concern plain as day on his face. Well, in his eyes. 

“Come with me,” he says, not as a request. Liam decides to comply. Doesn’t have much to lose. 

They aren’t touching but it feels like the other man is dragging him into the bathroom. Nobody’s in there and the mobster locks the door. 

“Why are you limping?” he asks. It sounds light enough but Liam gets the vibe that he won’t back down until he gets an answer. 

“A few days ago I had an altercation with one of your… People. Shayne?” Liam says. Zayn’s eyebrow shoots up, the surprise clear as day. 

“Shayne? What does he have to do with anything?” There’s something in his voice that the fighter can’t place and it sets him on edge. 

“Well, he decided it would be a good time to stab me. Eh, to be fair, I did send two of his goons to the hospital.” 

Zayn held up a hand. “Wait, what do you mean he stabbed you?” It wasn’t just concern in his tone. But Liam couldn’t place what else was there. 

“I mean it how it sounds. He stabbed me, right in my leg. I gave the knife back, by embedding it in his shoulder, but still,” Liam replied. 

Zayn’s right hand twitched. “That fucking bastard,” he muttered, literal venom dripping from his words. Liam looked at him in surprise. That was the most emotion he thinks he’s ever seen from the man. “Can I, can I see it? Please?” he asks. 

With no idea on what possessed him, Liam says yes. He drops the sweatpants and lifts up his shorts. There’s red coming up to the stain the fresh bandage so Liam just takes it off completely. The stitches are still there, mostly undisturbed aside from the ones on the end. It’s long, about four inches in total. 

There’s some hesitancy, but with a nod from the fighter, Zayn presses light fingertips to the edge of the wound. His touch warms Liam’s entire thigh and he makes a mental note to overthink that later. 

“I will make him pay,” Zayn growls. Without another word, he turns on his heel and storms out the bathroom door. 

His words make Liam curious but not enough so to make him stick around. He pulls his pants back up and heads out to find Niall so they can go home. They’ve got shit they _need _to talk about.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if I need to add more warnings or if there are any glaring mistakes. I'm sorry that my writing style is all over the place. I need to stop writing at 2 am. Let's be real though, I'm not going to.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Kind of graphic description of violence at the beginning? It's not that bad, it's just kind of gross. 
> 
> The first part of this chapter was stupidly hard to write. Everything else just escalated faster than I expected. I mean, honestly. Anyways, unedited because I'm tired. If anything needs to be fixed, let me know so I can. Enjoy ;)

Three days later, Liam finds out exactly what Zayn did. He’s watching a soccer match with Niall when it cuts to commercial and the night’s top news story appears. It only takes a few seconds for Liam to realize just what it’s about and it enough for him to wind up watching the news when it comes on. 

_“Tonight’s top story; do we have a serial killer on our hands or is it just another brutal mob hit? Earlier this evening, a couple was shocked when they were walking past a darkened alleyway and found two bodies hanging from the fire escape by their own intestines. The bodies have been identified as Mike Meyers and Justin Karliel. They’ve been key suspects in a series of what could be considered mob hits by many.”_

The news anchor keeps going, adding in more details and then talking to the people who found the bodies and the experts but Liam stopped paying attention. He hit the mute button and stared blankly at the TV as the newscasters posted the mug shots. Sure enough, it was the guys who Liam fought in the alleyway only a few days ago. 

He rubs his hand over his chin, feeling this burning desire to talk to Zayn, to ask him why. But. There was a slight problem with that. 

He had no idea how to find him. 

Liam’s always gotten the vibe that he can only be found when he wants to be found. He can’t fault the man for that. Mobsters aren’t the most popular people around. He just. 

Ugh. 

It’s going to bother him. Like, why defend him? Why go through this trouble? Aside from a very, very small handful of conversations that could be summed up as mostly meaningless, what interest could Zayn have in him? 

Actually, can he even be sure it was about him? It sounded so self-centered and a bit egotistical, but. He has to be reasonable. The few facts that he has add up. Unfortunately, they all point to him. 

Niall comes back into the living room, sitting down in the arm chair perpendicular to the couch. He’s staring Liam down, bright eyes tracking his movements and studying his body language. 

The fighter pays him no mind. Whatever the Irishman sees in him mustn’t be too bad, for he settles back into the chair and watches the news without comment. 

_“In other news, Senator Desmond Styles has come to the city to speak to the council about the crime rates and how the city plans to approach...”_

Liam tunes out everything else the man is saying because the man on the screen has caught his attention. 

It’s Desmond Styles, featured with a man that Liam has definitely seen with Zayn. He recognizes the curly hair and the bright green eyes. He’s been to every one of the fights that the crime lord’s son has to been. Doesn’t ever seem to leave his side actually. 

He misses literally everything that news anchor says because he has to wonder what a mobster is doing hanging around the senator’s son. Then he stops wondering because if any of the mob movies he’s seen have any truth to them, then Harry Styles is the reason that Zayn Malik will never get caught. Great. 

~*~*~*~

Liam did not manage to focus on much in the time coming up to the next Tuesday fight. His leg’s healing nicely, despite the minor ripping in the stitches that Leigh-Anne tore into him about. He’s walking without much of a limp, so he counts his stars. 

Each and every time he manages to get his mind off of Zayn and what he did, something or other would remind him of what happened and his thoughts would loop right back around to the beautiful man. It was quite inconvenient. It really was. 

It can’t just be paranoia anymore. The entire time he was in the gym on Saturday, he felt unfamiliar eyes on him, watching his movements. When he looked, he saw men that he’s never seen before watching him. It’s no coincidence that it happens every time he’s in there, for the entire time he’s there. His only reprieve is that they don’t follow him to the X, but the paranoia sticks with him. 

Liam was getting really tired of constantly looking over his shoulder. It was really getting annoying. 

Tuesday night, he’s waiting by Zayn’s table, casually leaning against it. His fight is later than normal, perfect for getting the chance to talk to the mobster and get this shit off his mind. 

He sees Harry Styles and his companion before he sees Zayn. Harry’s eyes narrow when they land on Liam. He keeps his own face blank, fully aware of what the situation looks like. 

“Can I help you?” Harry asks, voice deep and slow. Distantly remind Liam of molasses honestly. 

“You can’t, but he can,” Liam replied, nodding his head towards Zayn. He was surprised to see a flicker of worry pass over the mobsters face, even more so when he nodded in agreement. Harry looked between the two of them, pure confusion written into his eyes. The other man with Zayn said nothing, just slid into the booth, making sure that his jacket fell open enough so that Liam could see a badge and a glock tucked into his waistband. Great. 

Liam turned on his heel and headed outside, towards the back alley where a solid 90% of his problems seem to occur. The door shut quietly behind them, Zayn’s hand still on the handle. 

“I’m guessing you saw the news then,” he said. He’s not looking at the fighter, avoiding his eyes like a child who knows they did something wrong and are trying to put off the impending punishment. 

Liam takes a deep breath, thinks of the words that he had been rehearsing in his head for the past few days. Can’t remember a single one now. 

He sighs. “I did.”

Zayn glances at him, a bit of uncertainty lighting his eyes. “And?”

Liam sighs again, really at a fucking loss to be honest. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. “And I guess I just want to know why? I think? Like, why me?”

“What do you mean?” His act is good but Liam can see through the cracks. He’s not really in the mood to play around. No time for that bullshit. 

“Don’t play dumb. We both know you aren’t.” 

It’s Zayn’s turn to sigh. He runs his fingers through his hair, carefully. Liam takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him, a privilege he’s sure only a few get to see. Still flawless as always, dark clothing clinging to his form. It could just be the shadows of twilight that’s playing a trick on his eyes, but Liam’s almost certain that Zayn looks smaller than he was before. 

As he waits for an answer, he really takes note of his body language. He’s much less than what Liam expected from the son of a mob boss. Doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know why he’s thinking about it like that, but he is. There’s something to him that he won’t put a name to just yet. 

Finally, he speaks. “Shayne was a bit of a… Problem child, if you will. He had a little too much power and it went to his head. He needed to be brought down a level or two. It was nothing personal, I assure you. You were just an unintentional catalyst.” 

Liam stared at him, kept at it until the other man shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, so then why don’t I believe you?” For the first time since they went outside, Zayn made eye contact with him, surprise coloring his features. 

“That sounds more like a personal problem, doesn’t it?” Zayn replied, a bite to his words. Liam walked towards him, like a predator stalking his prey. He watched the other man track his movements, visibly swallow. Liam isn’t much bigger than him normally, but right now he was towering over him. 

He pulled him away from the door and crowded him against the solid brick wall just off to the side. Liam felt his lips curl into a smile, smirking as he watched Zayn’s eyes focus on his lips. “I think your reasons are a little more personal, if we’re going to be completely honest here.”

He sees the challenge in the other man’s eyes, a seductive grin tugging on his lips. “If they were? What would you do?” 

This is definitely escalating faster than Liam had originally planned but, really, he wasn’t going to complain. He won’t deny that this thought has crossed his mind more than once, and being in this setting isn’t helping the blood stay in his head.

“Tell me,” he whispers, leaning in close enough that his breath is ghosting over the mobster’s ear. He feels him shiver under him, and goddamn, he could get used to that no problem. “Did you take out those men because they were a problem for _you_ or because they attacked _me_?” Liam pulls back to see his face better. 

Zayn breathes out, almost a sigh but not quite. He peers through his thick eyelashes, an innocence that should out of place considering who it’s on taking over his features. “If I did it for you? What would you do?” he whispers. Liam feels the smirk on his own face get bigger. 

“I would have to thank you, wouldn’t I?” Liam answers, stroking his thumb against the scruff on the other man’s jaw. Zayn gasps, giving Liam the perfect opportunity to press his lips to the other’s. 

For a moment, he’s worried that he misunderstood the situation until he feel Zayn’s enthusiastic return. Liam slides his hand to the back of Zayn’s neck, bringing him in closer. He licks against the seam of his lips, the mobster opening them without much more prompting. It’s slower, more sensual than Liam was expecting from this. 

This is what he meant earlier. He’s more submissive, but only towards Liam. He’s watched his interactions with his companions and the people around him and he definitely has domineering air around everyone else. Liam won’t deny it, he likes being the one who can do this. Who can make him weak. It’s a power rush that Liam normally only feels in the ring. It’s good. 

He licks into his mouth, tasting the expensive cigarettes he smokes and the whiskey he must’ve had before coming to the bar. It’s a head rush and they’re both breathing hard when they break apart. 

“Was that good enough?” Liam asks, a bit cheeky and slightly out of breath. Zayn looks dazed, happy, but dazed. He nods.

“More than,” he replies. His cheeks are flushed and Liam runs his thumb across the highpoints, the other man almost nuzzling into his hand. Then a thought occurs to Liam.

“Are you, we’re still in public.” 

Zayn raises an unimpressed eyebrow at that, decidedly condensing. Liam tries to not take offense. “I don’t mind if you don’t.” 

“You aren’t worried about your reputation?” Liam asks. Zayn shakes his head and places his hand on Liam’s chest, curling his fingers into his hoodie. 

“Nobody is stupid enough to fuck with me about something this trivial.” 

Liam doesn’t push it. Instead, he kisses him again. Zayn’s lips are soft, if slightly chapped. He’s also a great kisser, which is always a good thing. 

“You’re going to miss your fight,” Zayn tells him, when they finally break apart again. They’re both breathing hard. 

“I don’t mind,” Liam replies, stealing another kiss. Zayn scoffs and pushes him away.

“Come on, I didn’t come all this way to see you bail out.” With that, he heads back inside, leaving Liam both hating him and feeling more than a little amused. God, he could fall for him. He really could. 

(For the record, he wins the fight that night. Not like that’s a surprise, but when he looks over at Zayn, he sees the other man blow him a kiss along with a very unsubtle wink. The red in his cheeks wasn’t just from excretion after that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... The last part kind of just happened. The first kiss wasn't supposed to happen until later but let's be real, those boys can't really keep their hands off each other. That and I suck at slow burn. Eh. C'est la via. 
> 
> Let me know what you think pretty please.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so short and so slow and I am so sorry. I just got a new job and it's kicking my ass. Like, I swear there is going to be more action soon. I just couldn't make this chapter longer and I didn't want to make you guys wait anymore than you already have for it. Forgive me? (Still not edited. Any glaring mistakes, just let me know.)

Liam distantly wonders if something should’ve changed, like the world shifts on its axis and everything is thrown off balance. But no. Nothing changes. He’s not completely absolutely sure that he’s okay with that. 

That night, after the fight, he sat Niall down and told him literally everything on his mind. He had to. Niall is his best friend. They go through everything together. Hell, Niall left home to come with Liam to New York even though it was a long shot in the dark that they would even make it. He’s loyal like that. Liam could work at it every waking moment of his life and still never be able to pay him back for all the shit he’s had to put up with. 

Which is why he tells him about Zayn, and about the budding feelings that are beginning to fill his head. There’s something he needs some form of confirmation on, something that he needs someone else’s opinion on, but the thought won’t translate itself into words and he finds himself floundering while trying to explain. It’s quite annoying actually. 

Thankfully, Niall is patient. 

When Liam finishes talking, ending his tale with the wink the other man had thrown his way, Niall has a quiet and considering look on his face. They sit in silence, which is a bit unnerving. Liam can hear the cars on the street below and the pitter patter of the rain against the window. He becomes so focused on these little things that he jumps when the Irishman talks. 

“Sounds like he likes ya.” He doesn’t sound happy about that. Liam can’t really blame him. It’s not the most… Ideal situation. 

“To be fair, I think I’m into him too,” Liam replies, running his hand through his hair. It’s still damp from his shower and the water clings to his hand. He flicks it off, accidently hitting Niall with it. The Irishman doesn’t react, just sits back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. There’s a darker look on his face that does not go with his personality at all. Liam will deny it with his dying breath, but it scares him. 

“This can’t end well.”

“I know.”

“And yet, ya still want to go through with this?”

“I think so.” No idea. He literally has no idea anymore. 

“Ya better be certain mate, there’s only a handful of ways this can end. And one of them’s in a body bag.” 

Liam drops his head into his hands. “Yeah, I know.” Niall doesn’t reply, just rubs his shoulder in sympathy. That’s the end of the conversation. And Liam’s left wondering if he’s making the right choice. 

~*~*~*~

Much to Liam’s surprise, Zayn is waiting for him at the gym, two days after the fight. There’s not many people around, some of them tossing a curious glance to the man but nobody says anything. Liam’s starting to see a reoccurring theme here. 

“Didn’t take you as a gym man,” the fighter says in lieu of a greeting. The mobster raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I’m not, but I was hoping that we could talk.” He says as he makes no move to get up. Liam cocks an eyebrow, honestly wondering what the fuck he’s gotten himself into. 

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” he asks. Zayn chuckles, a quiet but pretty sound. Liam has to admit that it fits the man beautifully. 

The fighter sets up his punching bag, noting that Zayn gets up and stands by the wall, just behind him. Out of range. Actually, where he is is where Niall usually stands. Nothing more is said and Liam gets started, going through the motions. Niall had a few errands to run so it’s just Zayn in Liam’s company. He doesn’t show off, he knows that the other man knows just how good he is. He’s got nothing to prove. 

They say nothing for a long while. The sound of flesh hitting thick canvas and the squeak of his sneakers against the hard wood is all that can be heard in the quiet corner. 

“I was never the best with fists. Could never hit hard enough. I’m much better with a knife.” Liam falters as his concentration is broken, stumbling a little and he has to catch himself. He turns to look at the other man, who’s examining his nails like he has no fucks in the world. 

“What?” The fighter is a little confused. And by a little, he means a lot because what the fuck? That’s a bit of a bombshell. There are civilians around, not close but still. Someone could hear. 

“I prefer it anyways. It’s quiet. A gun draws too much attention. It’s too loud.” 

“Okay, I’ll ask it again since you didn’t hear me the first time. What are you talking about?” Liam moves so that he’s directly in front of him. Zayn looks at him, eyes unreadable for the first time. Somehow, that’s what makes him worry. 

“The switchblade you stabbed Shayne with, that’s my knife. Father isn’t happy right now. With either of us.” 

Just like that, Liam’s even more confused. 

“Seriously, what does that have to do with anything?” Liam asks. Zayn sighs. He slumps so slightly against the wall, a barely noticeable gesture but Liam sees it for what it is. He’s tired. 

“I don’t know how else to explain this to you. Father wants to meet with you. He wants to know why you stabbed his son-in-law with my knife,” Zayn says quietly. 

“Why didn’t you just say that?” 

“I did.” 

Liam drops it, coming to the conclusion that he would get nowhere with that line of questioning. He leans in closer, bracing his arm against the wall just off to the side of Zayn’s head, effectively hiding the smaller man. 

“When does he want to meet?” He raises his hand to rest on the mobster’s cheek, thumb running along the prominent cheekbone. Zayn shuts his eyes and sighs.

“Tomorrow.”

Liam nods. “Will you be there?” 

Zayn huffs out a chuckle, nuzzling into Liam’s touch. “I have to be.” 

“I guess I’ll go then.” Liam tells him, throwing in a shrug. The mobster pulls away slightly, eyes disbelieving. 

“You would honestly consider skipping a meeting with the Don. Really?” He studies Liam for a moment before he sighs. “Yeah, you would.” 

Liam leans in to whisper; “tell me the time and place, I’ll be there. No worries.” 

Zayn shakes his head. “You really are something else, aren’t you?” 

The fighter laughs. “I’m just me babe. That’s all.” 

Without any warning, the mobster’s phone goes off, making Liam jump back. Zayn pulls out the device and sighs heavily. “I have to go.”

“So soon?” A raised eyebrow is his answer. “Of course.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll text you the details soon,” Zayn tells him, pressing his lips to Liam’s cheek. 

“You’re gonna have to if you want me to be there,” Liam mumbles, trying to not be too bitchy. He squeezes Zayn’s hand before letting go. The mobster walks away and as he leaves, Liam realizes something. “Wait! Don’t you need my number?” he calls.

“Don’t worry about that either. I already have it,” Zayn replies, just before the door shuts. Liam stands there in shock for a good minute until he just breathes out and mutters; 

“Of course you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, thank you so much for all the positive feedback. I know I don't reply to comments but I swear I do read them. I just, I don't know how to respond so I'm sorry. Also, hopefully the next chapter will come out sooner but.... Eh. We'll see.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, I updated and it's not 3am? Waaaahh? Actually, it's more like, I actually updated? Yeah... Sorry about that. I swear I meant to earlier but between my fucked sleep schedule, writer's block and work, I just haven't been able to work on this story. Sorry it's so short yet again. 
> 
> Nothing too exciting happens. Sorry. But the plot thickens. Kind of. 
> 
> Unedited but let's be real, are you really surprised.

Liam never thought he’d see the day where he would be forcing himself into his only good suit to meet with the Don. Actually, the thought never even crossed his mind. He never knew that he needed to worry about crossing paths with the mob. Never occurred to him that he would get tangled up with them. 

The world is just full of surprises, isn’t it?

He’s not as nervous as he feels like he should be. Despite the circumstances, he’s not worried about the meeting so much. No, that would be too easy. 

Like with everything else in his life lately, the only thing on his mind is Zayn. It bothers him more than he cares to admit that this man has gotten so far under his skin, despite the limited amount of contact that they’ve actually had. 

There’s something about him that makes Liam feel a certain way. He hasn’t felt this way towards anyone in a long time. He won’t dare to put a name to it just yet. Giving it a name makes it real and he would rather live in fantasy right now. Would rather keep pretending honestly. 

The silk slips through his fingers as he ties the tie. He watches his hands through the mirror, watches as they clumsily tie the simple knot. 

Liam looks clean and put together, that’s all that matters.

His phone chimes, screen lighting up. Without looking, he knows it’s Zayn. True to his word, the mobster did have his number. He told him to wear a suit and that he would send a car to pick him up in front of Grimmy’s, the bar where most of the illegal street fighting takes place. 

It’s only a short walk away from his apartment, and he knows that he’ll make it there before 6:30. It was only 5, he would have no excuse if he was late. 

He examined himself in the glass. It might’ve been an overcast day but natural sunlight still poured in through the massive windows. In the right lighting, he looked decent. 

But now, Liam had to admit he looked good. Pressed medium gray suit made up of clean lines, hair slicked back all neat and tidy. He could almost pass as a business man. If you ignored the bloody knuckles and fading bruises. 

He straightened his tie one more time before his phone chimed happily. After a quick glance, he saw that it was from Ruth. Liam deleted it without reading. He needed to keep his head on straight. The last thing he needs right now is a distraction from his family. 

A quick glance at the clock tells him it’s time to leave if he wants to beat the car there. At the last minute, he pinches his sunglasses and slides them on. Not who he is but he needs something to hide the nerves behind. He shuts his bedroom door and stands there for a minute, hand on the knob, just breathing. Was he really, honestly, truly going to go through with this? His phone chimed in his hand, screen lighting up with Zayn’s name.

Yeah, he was. 

Liam shouted out a quick goodbye to Niall as he headed out the front door. His steps were quickened as he walked the solid distance to the bar. The air was a bit nippy, a bit of a shock on the face. 

The weather was finally starting to change. There was some sort of poetic justice in that, considering all that’s happened/is happening so far. If Liam had a better education, or was just smarter, he could find the words to describe it. Unfortunately, he’s limited to only acknowledging what was happening and then letting it be. For now, it was enough. 

He reaches the bar just a little after 6. Has plenty of time for a quick drink. Or so he thought. 

His hand is on the door when a pitch black Camaro, one of the newer models, pulls up to a stop directly in front of him. The driver pops out and opens the door, staring him down without staring him down. Liam legitimately considers going and getting a drink anyways, but ultimately decides to not be an asshole. 

Liam nods his head towards the man, gets the same gesture in return, and climbs into the back. There’s like no leg room and he’s feeling a bit cramped, but he keeps his mouth shut. 

Despite the hour and the fact that it’s New York, there’s very little traffic and they make it to their destination in no time. 

They pull up in front of this intimidating building, no name anywhere in sight. There’s a doorman out front, his uniform impeccable. Liam gets out of the car, adjusting his tie yet again and feeling severely underdressed. 

The man opens the door and Liam heads in, ducking his head slightly in thanks. The lobby is a deep crimson with gold accents. There’s a mahogany desk towards left in the back. What catches Liam’s eye is mostly how few people there are standing around, but they are all dressed to the nines. 

A lady who resembles Zayn almost uncannily approaches him, not a single one of her long dark hairs moving out of place. Without a word, she gestures for Liam to follow her. Against all instinct, he does. 

He’s led down a long hallway, matches the lobby, to a door on the right side, second from the end. She knocks once before she pushes it open. 

There’s many men sitting around a table, all of them as imposing as the ones he saw in the lobby. They were chattering amongst themselves, not a single one paying attention to him. A man who must be the Don is sitting at the head of the table, a fedora tilted on his head. He’s quietly puffing on a cigarette with a glock on the table in easy reach, watching him with nothing in his eyes. Liam’s fingers twitch, the urge to grab it and hold it away from him quite real. 

A quick scan of the room and he realizes that he can’t find Zayn. Great. 

Yaser clears his throat. Immediately, silence falls upon the room. Liam is led to the opposite end of the table, directly across from the Don. The lady pulls out his chair and he quietly thanks her as he sits down. 

It more than a little unnerving with the hush that’s fallen over the room. Nobody says anything until the door shuts behind the woman as she leaves. Then, the Don speaks. 

“It’s a pleasure to finally put a face to the name, Liam,” Yaser says, grinning with all his teeth. The fighter makes the comparison of the man to a shark, with his dead eyes and that smile. He feels like a fish who staring death in the face. He refuses to let it show. 

“Same to who. I was wondering who the man behind the legend was. It’s nice to put a face to the name,” Liam replies, watching him as another woman comes into the room and pours him about two fingers of whiskey. Yaser’s smile takes on a sharper edge. It feels like an unwinnable game of cat and mouse. 

Yaser stubs out the cigarette and takes up his own drink, taking a drink. Liam doesn’t dare touch his. He’s not that stupid. 

“My son seems to speak highly of you, says that you’re a gifted fighter.” Yaser tells him, an edge of distaste coloring his words. Liam raises an eyebrow and settles back in his seat. 

“Not so much a gift as it is hard work, something I’m sure you understand.” 

Liam can’t read this man, he really can’t. He hates how it makes him feel. Yaser keeps his face clear, no emotion what so ever. None of the other men let on. 

A door behind Yaser opens and Zayn comes out, his head held high though his eyes are downcast. He takes a seat on Yaser’s left side, nodding his head towards his father. 

“Oh good, you’re here. Now, we can discuss why Mr. Payne is actually here tonight.” Liam not even remotely surprised the guy has his name. There would be no point. The sky is beginning to darken outside. Liam didn’t think he had been here that long but he must’ve. 

“What I want to know, what with my burning curiosity, is why you decided to attack my son-in-law,” Yaser states, leaning forward in his chair. All eyes (minus Zayn’s) turn to him, staring him down. Liam refused to back down. 

“With all due respect sir, he attacked me,” Liam replied. He folded his hands on the table, not once breaking eye contact with the Don. 

“Now, why would he do something like that?” 

“Because he lost a large sum of money, placing his bet on the wrong man. It’s not my fault he’s a sore loser.”

There’s a sharp inhale from everyone. Liam sees Zayn wince out of the corner of his eye. Yeah, Liam apparently feels like digging his own grave tonight. 

“That doesn’t sound like him,” Yaser responds, taking another drink. Liam picks up his own and takes a sip. It’s smooth, far smoother than anything he’s ever had before. The things that money can buy. 

“Well it was. You might want to tell him to learn to manage his money better,” Liam stated. He leaned back, propping his arm on the armrest and resting his head on his fist. 

There’s a collective gasp from most everyone. Liam didn’t dare take his eyes off the Don. Yaser meets his eyes dead on. Silence encompasses them for far too long. 

Suddenly, Yaser breaks composure and begins laughing. (Literally, the creepiest fucking thing Liam has ever seen in his life. There is literally nothing in that man’s eyes.) After a moment, everyone else does too. Everyone but Zayn that is. They catch the other’s eyes and share a look of unease. 

A few minutes pass before Yaser holds up a hand and the hush comes back. It’s lighter, but not by much. He shows his teeth again and Liam fights the urge to flinch away from him. 

“I fear I must agree with you there. My son-in-law does not take losing well. It is perhaps one of his greater flaws.” Yaser polishes off the last of his drink and waves away the woman who goes to pour him more. Liam still has about a finger left in his own glass. He doesn’t dare to touch it. 

“Might want to tell him to work on that.” 

Yaser chuckles without much humor. “I shall get right on that. If you will excuse me, I have other things to attend to. It was a pleasure meeting you Liam Payne.” With that, he and everyone but Liam and Zayn leave. 

As soon as the door behind the last man shuts, Liam lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. That, really didn’t go anything like how he was expecting it to. Both good and bad. It’s sort of fucking with his head. 

After taking a moment to collect his bearings, Liam gets up. Zayn looks up, mirroring his action after a pause. They don’t speak as they leave the room together. 

Actually, they don’t speak until they’re outside. When Zayn spontaneously turns and hits Liam chest with a surprisingly strong right hook. Liam manages to catch his fist before he can get hit again. It’s weird to see such emotion after that ordeal. Or any emotion to be honest. 

“Do you have some sort of a fucking death wish?” Zayn growls, ripping his arm out of Liam’s grip. And yeah, Liam was wondering that himself really. That was pretty risky of him but he couldn’t let that man see his fear. 

“No, I knew what I was doing. I’m not afraid of him,” Liam states, reaching out to touch the other man. Zayn ducks his hand, crossing his arms. Distantly, Liam wonders if the mobster realizes that he’s wrinkling his suit jacket. 

Zayn runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. He looks at his hand in disgust, like he forgot about the amount of product in his hair. Liam resists the urge to laugh. Something is telling him it wouldn’t go over well if he did. 

“What are you so worried about? It went fine,” Liam says, coming closer. Zayn growls again, clenching his fist. 

“My father doesn’t see the humor in many things Liam. Forgive me for worrying about your self destructive ass!” Zayn shouts. He turns away to glare into the streets. It’s surprisingly empty on this side of town. Liam’s still reeling from, well, basically everything. There’s a fire in his words and it makes him curious. 

“Why are you worried about me?” Liam inquires gently, putting his hand on the mobster’s cheek and turning him towards him. Zayn sighs and nuzzles into the touch. 

“For some reason, you managed to capture my attention when no one else has. I’m more than a little attracted to you. Don’t make me explain why, because I don’t have the words, but I find myself craving your company. So forgive me for wanting to keep you around a little longer.” 

Zayn goes to pull away but Liam won’t him. He pulls the other man in closer, hand resting on the small of his back. He briefing marvels at the quality of the fabric underneath his hand before ducking his head down and pressing his lips against Zayn’s. 

He runs his thumb against Zayn’s cheek, making the smaller man moan quietly against his lips. Liam indulges a few seconds longer before finally pulling away. The warmth that was building in his chest intensifies as he feels Zayn’s eyelashes flutter against his palm.

“You’ve captured my attention too. I’m sorry for making you worry,” Liam whispers against his mouth. Zayn sighs and backs away. Another sleek black car pulls up to the curb, this time a Corvette. 

“Just don’t make it a habit, please.” Zayn says as the driver pops around the car, opening the door. Liam climbs in, waving goodbye. The mobster holds up a hand in return as they pull away from the curb. 

Liam settles back against the leather seat and reflects on the night. As he does, he comes to the realization that there is literally no way in hell he was going to be able to sleep tonight. Hopefully, Niall would be up for an all nighter because this needs some serious fucking discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! They've talked about their feelings. It's all downhill from here :) 
> 
> Please let me know what you think. And thank you to everyone who has still stuck around. I'll really try to work on updating sooner.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God. Okay. So, disclaimer; this story in no way, shape or form reflects my view of the people these characters are based on. I personally have nothing against them. I just, I feel the need to throw that out there. Anyways, enjoy this unedited chapter. (BTW, this is my first time writing a sex scene. Like ever.) There was something else that I wanted to say but I can't think of what it is at this time soooo.....
> 
> Warning: derogatory language towards a woman. Sex.

Really, if Liam had a dollar for everything that had changed after that meeting, well. Let’s just say he would have a lot of dollars. Money would no longer be a major concern of his. Matter of fact, it would become the furthest thing from his mind. That being said, what had truly changed wasn’t something that could be explained quickly, let alone efficiently. 

The most noteworthy thing, of course, is the most difficult to put into words. It felt like the world should’ve shifted on its axis, like tides should’ve turned and seasons should’ve switched but no. The natural order continues as it does and Liam couldn’t resent it more. He couldn’t feel anymore off kilter if he fucking tried.

He hasn’t seen Zayn since the meeting, where they basically word vomited on each other that there was a mutual romantic interest. Despite now having the mobster’s number, he still has yet to use it. There’s a hesitation that he can’t shake every time he tries to even send a simple “hi”. 

Because it’s not that fucking simple. Nothing is as clear cut as other people make it. 

Liam throws his phone onto his bed and leans back, rubbing his hands over his face as he kicks himself mentally for being such a fucking wimp about this. He wants this, more than anything to be honest, but there’s such a heavy weight to it that he can’t let go of the consequences that linger in the back of his mind. 

He kicks back in his chair, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling above him. The way he sees it, there are two ways that this can play out. The first is, somehow, they manage to get together and date. Shit progresses naturally and (fingers crossed) they work out, get married, happily ever after and all that jazz. The second is more likely, and far more terrifying. The don’s disapproval colors their relationship, causing unnecessary strain and they can’t work through the pressure. Or, they don’t work out for reasons of this or that and Liam spends the rest of his natural born life looking over his shoulder because he hurt the other man. 

Really, there’s no competition. 

With a heavy sigh, Liam sits up and rolls his chair over to his bed and grabs his phone. He texts out a ‘hi’, throwing on a basic smiley face at the end. Yeah. Classy.

It takes maybe a minute before his phone happily chimes. Liam looks at the screen and can’t repress the grin that threatens to split his face. It’s been years since he’s been in middle school but goddamn, this reminds him of those days. 

_‘hi xo’_

They continue to text, the basic trivial things that can’t be a cause for suspicion. Still, it’s more than Liam has done in a long time. They talk for hours. Way longer than Liam even talks to his family. Then again, he actually enjoys this conversation. 

Also, there’s more than a little flirting. It doesn’t quite cross the line into sleazy but Liam’s feeling a bit hot under the collar regardless. 

Zayn has to leave first. And Liam lets him with minimum whining. He grabs his gym shit and gets ready to go. 

Niall’s got work at the bar so Liam’s on his own at the gym. Doesn’t matter, he gets a kickass workout in. The kind that leaves his muscles burning and throbbing in the best way. The sweat is literally dropping off of him in waves. 

There’s been an aggression simmer underneath his skin that’s been there since the meeting with Yaser Malik. Liam’s not the kind of guy to take things too personally, not anymore, but the condensation that the man had exuded pissed him off in more ways than one. He’s getting too deep, a bit over his head if there’s any honesty left in this cruel world, but he’s not going to back down. That’s just not who he is. 

The sound of flesh hitting vinyl stops as Liam pauses to breathe and wipe the sweat from his eyes. He looks to his bag, feeling the need to go to it. So he does. 

As he gets closer, he can hear it vibrating relentlessly. And guess who’s calling. No, it’s not Zayn. It just has to be his ex-fiancée. 

“Hello?” Liam says, wincing when he realizes that he’s getting sweat all over the screen. He hears the light chuckle on the other end of the line. 

“I thought you’d be happier to hear from me, baby.” Danielle replies, the fake pout clear in her voice. Liam rolls his eyes and rests his back against the exposed brick wall.

“I’d be happier if you left me alone,” Liam answers, keeping the heat out of his voice. He hears her coo sympathetically and it makes his skin crawl in the worst way. 

“You know, I would. If your mother would leave me alone. Apparently, you’ve been ducking your family’s calls and they aren’t very happy with you, honey.” The fake sweetness in her tone makes Liam want to throw up. He doesn’t though. The temptation is real though. And he can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice when he talks back. 

“They are aware we broke a while ago right? Because you fucked another guy behind my back for a solid six months and then had the balls to get mad at me for getting pissed at you. Do you remember that sweetheart?” Liam asked, begging God to end this phone call soon. And just when he had just finished getting out the anger from dealing with Yaser. 

“Yeah, I also remember you breaking his jaw. Call your fucking family back Liam, I’m not your secretary. I’m not your girlfriend anymore.” 

“Thank God for that. I’d rather be with someone who can actually keep their legs shut instead of spreading them for anyone who looks at them the right way. Or at all.” Liam says, waving his hand like she can see. He bites his lips when he hears her gasp. He doesn’t condone talking to women like this but, sometimes, class and decorum go out the window when you’re a bit more than pissed. 

“Go to hell Liam Payne.” She snarls. Liam laughs, the lack of humor making him sound fucking psycho. 

“I already did when I was with you.” She hangs up instead of responding. Liam sighs. They did not end things well. And Liam’s fucking pissed that his family would use her to get to him. Yeah he might be petty because there’s no way in hell that he’s calling them back now. He needs to get his mind off of her. His ex-fiancée. (Dodged a fucking bullet on that one.)

So, he sends a text to Zayn. Simple ‘what are you doing?’ The reply is almost instantaneous. 

_‘nothing, what’s up babe?’_

_‘how do you feel about going to dinner with me? Tonight?’_

He worries his bottom lip as he waits for a reply, beginning to pack up his shit so that he can head home. He refuses to dwell on Danielle. She isn’t worth the brain power. 

The reply doesn’t come until he’s on the street. And the answer puts a smile on his face and quickens his steps. Looks like he’s got a date. 

~*~*~*~

They agree to meet at this restaurant that is a bit more upscale. Liam’s got quite a bit saved up so he isn’t worried about the price. Once again, he finds himself in the suit that used to be buried at the back of his closet but it seems to be coming out more and more often. The things he does man. 

Liam gets there just a little after 7:50, earlier than he expected. His car is currently, well, nonexistent so he pulls up in a taxi, much to the amusement of the valet. There’s no malice behind it so Liam tosses the guy a grin. Besides, the fighter knows that he’s made more in the last month than this guy probably has in the whole time he’s worked here. 

He adjusts his cuffs and tie as he walks up to the host, his most charming smile on his face. “Reservation for Payne,” Liam says, confidence making him feel a bit cocky. The man just raises an eyebrow and scans the list. (Liam may have called the place as he was heading home, just barely managing to get a reservation. Barely. He might be paying extra but shh.) 

The man makes a noise of… Something, and leads Liam into the dining room. Goddamn, did he make a good choice. Low lighting, ridiculously high ceiling with a crystal chandelier, cream interior with gold accents. Really, Liam had to pat himself on the back. He didn’t though because that would be a little absurd. And he’s already getting looks of barely disguised disgust. They can’t bring him down. 

The table is towards the back of the restaurant, by the bar actually, and guess who’s already sitting there. Yeah, Liam definitely has the hottest date in the whole damn place. 

Zayn’s in his typical attire (black button down, black skinny jeans, black jacket, black everything) and leaning back in his chair, slouching so slightly that only Liam really notices. Despite the fact that he honestly, truly only barely knows Zayn, it feels like he’s known the other man forever. Which is why Liam can read the anxiety in his posture, the slight nervousness that the fighter wishes that he could know the cause of so he could remove it. 

Regardless, he approaches with a smile on his face that softens when he sees his date look up. The tension in the mobster releases and Liam feels grateful. He takes his seat and accepts the menu from their host. 

“You look beautiful darling,” Liam says, sincerity coloring his words. Zayn’s lips quirk into a half smile as he takes a sip from his wine glass. A waiter approaches and pours Liam a glass, probably from the same bottle. He thanks the man before he disappears. 

“Nowhere near as great as you,” Zayn replies. The urge to kiss the smile from his face compels Liam but he restrains himself. It would get too heated too fast for a public space such as this. 

“You flatter me babe. Have you already decided what you want?” Liam asked, flipping his own menu open and scanning the options. Most of the shit in it went over his head but he recognized a few items from pervious dinners so that he could make a fairly decent decision.

Zayn nods and takes another drink. This prompts Liam to take a drink of his own wine. There’s a richness to the beverage that tells the fighter that it is not a cheap bottle. Not that he was expecting it to be but still. Not a wine connoisseur but this shit is definitely quality. 

They place their orders when the waiter comes back and then proceed to fill their wait with idle small talk. Liam isn’t surprised to find that they share many of the same interests (comics, superhero movies, RnB music) and is quite pleased to find that this almost unreal man is human. Who happens to have a nerd side that rivals his own. So, like, a pat on the back for him. 

It’s after their meals have been placed in front of them does the conversation seem to take a more, serious, turn. 

“Father seemed to enjoy your company the other day,” Zayn said, cutting into his chicken marsala. Liam hummed around the mouthful of steak. “Yeah, he spoke quite highly of you. Well, as highly as he does of anyone.” 

Liam wiped his mouth with his napkin as he swallowed. “Really? I didn’t think I did.”

Zayn shrugged as he finished chewing the bite. “You made quite the impression on him. You’ve been the only one who’s been ballsy enough to talk back to him.” 

That doesn’t surprise Liam in the slightest. “I’ve been talked down to too much in my life to take it lightly anymore.” 

The mobster picks up his wine glass, swirls it around a bit, and then throws the rest of the glass back. “That doesn’t surprise me. You fight with an aggression that comes from years of pent up rage that’s never found an outlet until now. Like a dog that’s been kicked one too many times and decides to go for the throat when it finally reaches its breaking point.”

Liam raises an eyebrow as he takes a drink himself. Zayn signals the waiter to refill his glass and the man tops off his as well. The fighters waits until he’s out of earshot before responding. 

“You’ve gathered that from watching me fight?”

Zayn tilts his head off to the side and shrugs. “From that, and from watching your interactions with other people.”

“Interesting.”

“Quite.”

They lapse back into silence, quietly contemplating as they continue to eat their meals. Liam expected this, he really did. His observations are on point. It is one of those things that he’s been almost waiting for. You don’t survive in this business by being unobservant. 

“Come home with me,” Zayn says, crossing his fork and knife on his plate. The statement catches Liam slightly off guard so he chokes but he tries to hide it. Not well apparently, if the smirk on the other man’s face and the amusement in his eyes is anything to go by. Liam resists the urge to flip him off. 

“Really? You crave my company still?” Liam asks, keeping his voice light and teasing. Two glasses of wine have him feeling a certain way. There’s a barely there blush on the mobster’s cheeks as he nods his head once. 

“Of course. Don’t you remember? You’ve captured my attention and I’m not quite done with you yet,” Zayn purrs, face innocent but his eyes give away his true intention. Liam pinches his thigh to keep from groaning aloud. This man is going to be the death of him. 

~*~*~*~

Yeah, no, Liam’s not surprised that Zayn lives in upscale Manhattan. He knows for a damn fact that the building the mobster lives in costs several thousand a month and of course the fucker lives in the penthouse. 

The view is absolutely jaw dropping and Liam knows that he’s staring but he’s never had the privilege of this kind of luxury. 

Thankfully, Zayn allows him to make an absolute fool of himself without mockery. The man has disappeared somewhere, most likely his bedroom. Liam takes the chance to strip himself of his jacket and toes off his fancy shoes. He loosens the tie and walks up to the window. 

The windows are floor to ceiling, allowing for an unobstructed view of all of New York. Liam could definitely see the perks of being the Don’s son. 

He sees Zayn approaching in the reflection. He has also ditched his jacket and shoes. He only in a plain t shirt and his jeans. The man’s relaxed appearance has Liam’s dick twitching in his pants. As much as he appreciates the clean cut suit, this dressed down version makes him just as hot. 

Liam turns to watch him pull out a bottle of champagne, popping off the cork and pouring two generous glassfuls. He brings both of the flutes to the couch, holding one of them out for Liam. 

The fighter takes it, letting his fingers linger against the mobster’s hand. He takes a sip, feeling the bubbles immediately go to his head. He sits next to him, relishing in the feeling of the high quality of the sofa. 

“You know, you aren’t what I’ve expected. Granted, what I know about the mob comes from the movies, but still,” Liam says. He brings his hand up to caress the other man’s cheek, watching intently as he nuzzles into his touch. Zayn pulls away after a moment, tucking his feet underneath him as he turns to face Liam more fully.

“Really? How am I different?” Zayn asks. He takes a drink and Liam wants to kiss the taste away from his lips. Then he remembers that he was asked a question and it’s important that he answers. He’s not drunk but definitely a bit more than buzzed. 

“Most people would be either insufferable because of their wealth and influence. But not you. No, you’re far more humble. You think that you hide your emotions well behind this mask, but your eyes constantly give you away. Example being right now,” Liam says, tapping his index finger underneath the other man’s chin to get him to lift up his gaze. Liam leans in closer to whisper into his ear, “I can see the desire in your eyes. I know you want me. And you can have me. You just have to ask.”

The whimper he gets in response has all the blood rushing from his head down south. Zayn takes the glass from his hand and sets both down on the table before kissing Liam with a passion that mirrors what the fighter is feeling. He can taste the wine from dinner and the champagne they just shared, along with the cigarettes that he smokes in the car on their way to his home. It shouldn’t be as intoxicating as it is but Liam finds himself craving more. 

After many, many moments, Zayn pulls back. Just barely. Just enough to whimper “please.” Liam allows this moan to go free. This man is going to be the death of him. 

Zayn slides into his lap and Liam brings his hands up to settle on his waist to hold him steady. He feels surprised in the best way to find that his hands cover so much of the smaller man’s waist. The mobster’s hands are warm as they cup his cheeks to hold him still as he kisses him deeply. 

He digs his fingers into the other man’s hips, hard enough to leave bruises, as Zayn grinds down. Liam groans because of course, he moves like a pornstar. He opens his eyes to catch the cheeky grin on the other man’s lips. Liam can’t have that so he rolls his own hips upwards, making the mobster moan. And yeah. Okay. That’s a bit hotter than expected. So Liam does it again. And gets the same response. More blood rushes down south and his jeans are feeling just that much too tight. 

It’s seems that Zayn’s thinking the same thing because the next thing Liam’s aware of is that the mobster is pulling him to his feet and leading him down a hallway. They come to his bedroom and without much (any) preamble, Liam finds himself being led to the bed and then pushed down on to it. 

He marvels at the feel of the comforter below him for only the briefest of moments before he has a lapful of the beautiful man again. Their kissing is turning desperate and Liam knows it won’t be long until he’s nutting off into his pants like a fucking high schooler. Time to get this show on the road. 

Liam slides his hands up the smooth skin of Zayn’s chest, bringing up his shirt as he strips him of it. He takes only a few seconds to admire the ink staining his body before dragging him back in for another kiss. He can feel the other man undoing the buttons on his shirt, quickly and efficiently ridding him of the garment. 

Unfortunately, he has to push Zayn off him to get their pants off but it’s fucking worth it. If he thought Zayn looked beautiful dressed, he was a goddamn masterpiece naked. His eyes were darkened with arousal and his cheeks flushed. 

Liam almost couldn’t even catch his breath.

“You’re so gorgeous babe,” he whispered. He cups Zayn’s cheek, feeling the skin heat up even more under his touch. “What do you want?” Liam asks, lips brushing just beside his ears. Zayn pulls back to look him dead in the eyes. 

“I want you to fuck me. Please,” he says. Liam smiles. 

“Ask and you shall receive.” 

So it goes from there. Zayn gets both a bottle of lube and a condom out of his bedside table and tosses them to Liam, who’s sitting on the bed again. This time, he’s up more towards the headboard. He pops the cap and slicks up three fingers, marveling at the fact of what is about to happen. Finally. His right hand finally gets a break. 

Zayn settles into Liam’s lap again, kissing him with the desperation of a dying man. So, the fighter takes his opportunity to trace the other man’s crack, just teasing the tip of his finger against his rim until the mobster whines, high in the back of his throat. 

“Please please please please please,” he begs, rocking his hips back and forth, basically grinding down on Liam. And who is Liam to deny him the simple pleasure. He presses the first finger in slowly until Zayn is rocking back, trying to get him to move. Liam works that one finger until he’s loosened enough for two. He’s got Zayn moaning loudly, biting into his shoulder to try to muffle the sound. It’s ultimately useless but Liam can admire his efforts. 

He can’t help but just enjoy the tightness and warmth of Zayn’s body. Did Liam expect his day to end up like this? No, not really. Is he complaining? Fuck no. 

A couple more minutes pass before he’s pushing in a third finger. He’s got Zayn riled up and as desperate as he feels. He works him until Zayn is pulling off his fingers with a plea of “please. I’m ready, I swear. I need you Liam. Please.” Which, thank God, because Liam really can’t hold off any longer. 

He rips open the packet, rolls on the condom, and slicks up his dick with lube. It takes way more willpower than he wants to admit to for him to pull his hand off his cock. He puts his hand on Zayn’s hip and then says, “if you want it so bad, then take it.” 

To which Zayn does. Liam holds him steady as he slowly sinks back on Liam’s hard cock. And the fighter can’t hold back the moan as he feels the warmth engulfing his dick. He feels better than any fantasy Liam can come up with. He feels no shame admitting that this is going to be prime wanking material for a long time to come. 

Liam spreads his legs wider so Zayn can take him deeper. He waits until Zayn starts moving, a slow start that gradually gains speed as his discomfort gives way to pleasure. The air fills with the sounds of whimpers, groans, grunts, and telltale slap of skin against skin. It’s as it gets faster and louder, that’s when Liam starts fucking up into him in earnest. A couple thrusts later and Zayn whimper-moans as Liam hits his prostate. The fighter keeps the angle and does it again and again, until he feels the familiar heat building up rapidly in the pit of his stomach. 

He feels no shame in how fast he wants to come considering how long he’s waited for this moment. It helps that he can tell that Zayn is getting closer to the edge himself. Liam gets a hand on the mobster’s dick, stroking him in time with his thrusts. 

“Come on baby, come for me,” Liam says, pressing his lips against Zayn’s. Two more tugs and he feels the sticky strips of come painting both of them. The clenching around his dick is what causes Liam to fall over the edge himself, spilling into the condom. 

It takes a few minutes to catch his breath and Liam feels fucking blissful. Better than anything he could imagine. 

He gently rolls Zayn off of him and onto the bed before pulling out. He chuckles at the other man’s whimper as he gets up on shaky legs to go get a washcloth to clean them both off. 

Zayn hasn’t moved when Liam gets back from disposing of the condom and he has to laugh. He looks like a grumpy kitten. He cleans him off and then throws the dirty cloth onto the floor. Liam stretches, groaning at the moment before he moves to get dressed. He’s about to get off the bed when he feels a hand grip his wrist.

“You can stay. If you want,” Zayn whispers. It’s the vulnerability in his eyes that has Liam saying yes. That, and he wasn’t ready to leave himself just yet. 

He kisses his temple as he helps him underneath the blankets. “I have to text Niall and then I’ll be right back, okay?” Liam waits until Zayn nods before he goes to his phone, sending off the quick text that he won’t be back tonight. He doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s getting into the bed himself. 

Immediately, Zayn is cuddling up to him, head resting on his chest. “Thank you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Liam’s chest. And he knows that it’s not for the sex. As amazing as it was. 

But that’s a thought that Liam’s too tired to dwell on so he says nothing, just kisses the other man’s fluffy hair and shuts his eyes. He feels Zayn take his hand and squeeze it tight. There’s a lot they need to talk about but it can wait until morning. 

That being said, Liam realizes, just before he completely falls asleep, that he’s in far too deep now. What he feels for the man in his arms is borderline love and there’s no way that he’s walking away without a fight. Because he can’t shake the feeling that this is the calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Liam said, this is the calm before the storm. It is definitely all downhill from here. So, let me know what you think. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you so much for the comments, kudos and bookmarks. They all really make my day.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys miss me yet? Work's kicking my ass. I get distracted really easily. I've got like thirty more excuses. But anyways, I'm sorry. 
> 
> No warnings this time. A bit more of Liam's backstory though. Totally a filler chapter. Sorry about that. Next chapter's got some action though. I know that I said that it's all downhill but it's more of a gradual decline. Don't have anything else to say so enjoy.

It’s a quarter to four and Liam can’t sleep any longer. Not like he could earlier but it’s a matter of the principle now. He thought that after the mind blowing sex he would be able to fall asleep and not wake for hours. That was a lie. It’s like he’s never been more awake in his life. A slight exaggeration but the point still stands. He isn’t far off. 

He drags his ass out of the bed, noting the fact that he was alone. Huh. Maybe that’s why he woke. Who knows. Sometimes he wakes up for strange reasons. 

A quick search around the room and he realizes that he can’t find his boxers so he forgoes them and slides on his pants, adjusting himself so that he doesn’t chaff against the zipper. Happened once before, never again. 

Liam drags a hand through his hair, can feel the strands still somewhat stiff with gel but definitely well-fucked up and looser than before. Eh. He already got Zayn in bed, it doesn’t matter too much anymore what he looks like. (Another lie, he cares far too much. Then again, how do you do perfection when you’ve literally fucked perfection?)

He wanders out of the bedroom, not wanting to linger in a room so personal without the owner present. As he heads into the living room, he realizes that the entire place is very… White. And sterile. Like a hospital. Which brings up vaguely unpleasant thoughts so he shoves them down violently. 

At the end of the hallway, he’s got a clear view straight into the living room. There, he sees Zayn curled up in the corner of the couch, biting the nail of his thumb as he stares at his phone. It’s the same anxiety that he saw at dinner. Looking back, it’s the same tension that always seems to be there when Liam is with him. Makes him curious if the man always has it or if it’s just with him. It makes the mobster seem younger, more vulnerable, and Liam can understand why he never would show this side of himself unless he was alone. 

It makes Liam want to protect him. A lesser man would want to hurt him. It’s sick, but Liam can see the appeal. 

“You can come in, you know,” Zayn calls out, not even bothering to look up from his phone. Liam rolls his eyes. He crosses the room regardless and sits beside him, close enough to curl his hand around the other man’s ankle if he felt like it. Which, he’s mildly tempted to do. 

So he does. 

The touch makes the mobster jump. Liam keeps his grip loose until Zayn settles, and then he rubs his thumb over the bone and the tendon beneath the warm skin. It feels comforting. It’s a weird thought but Liam rolls with it. This man makes him have a lot of weird thoughts. Makes him feel more than Danielle ever did. Even at the highs of their relationship. 

“What are you doing up?” Liam asked, watching his fingers against the other’s leg. The room is quiet. Almost unnervingly so. He doesn’t go above a whisper, irrationally afraid of shattering the peace of the quiet. They are so high up that he can’t hear the city below them. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Zayn replies, setting his phone off to the side, face down. He crosses his arms and leans against the back cushions. His fluffy hair falls into his face and stays there until he pushes it back. A strange look crosses his face but is gone before Liam can put a name to it. He looks cold despite the fact that he stole Liam’s dress shirt (it’s too big on him, and goddamn if that isn’t a turn on) and put on a pair of boxers. 

Liam shrugs. “True, but I asked you first,” Liam said, pinching the skin below his calf. Zayn jumps, making Liam grin. The mobster shoots him a playful glare. It doesn’t hold that long and it slips off his face, replaced by a tiredness that betrays his answer. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” He’s very nonchalant about his response but Liam can hear this exhaustion underneath the apathy. Even if he hadn’t heard it, he can sure as hell see it; the slump to his shoulders, the bruised skin under his eyes, the locked jaw. Looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Or, if he has, it hasn’t been restful. 

The fighter wants to push, wants to ask and pry into the other man’s life, but he knows that he has no right to. A handful of conversations, one date, and one night of passion doesn’t add up to deep questions about one’s criminal exploits and general unconventional upbringing. As bad as Liam wants to ask, he decides to wait until Zayn brings it up first. 

So, he eases the tension that was beginning to fill the room. “Neither could I. Especially when I realized my teddy bear left,” Liam pouts, turning his puppy dog eyes onto the other man. He watches with amusement as Zayn bursts out laughing. Yeah, it was a stupid joke, but it worked. 

“If I’m your teddy bear, then you’re my pillow,” Zayn said, a few minutes later, still giggling. Liam shrugs and throws his arm across the back of the couch. He scooches a bit closer so that he can brush his fingertips against the other man’s soft hair. Very subtly, Zayn leans in to the touch and closes his eyes again. The fighter watches at the mobster’s breathing begins to even out and he knows that it won’t be long until the other man is asleep. 

“You know, I can live with that,” Liam mutters, wincing internally at how fond he sounded. Zayn just hums in reply, fading quickly. Liam takes the opportunity to maneuver them so that they are laying on the couch, him on his back with Zayn on his chest. Teddy bear and pillow indeed. Another thing that he finds himself wanting more and more. Another thing Liam could get used to. Something he wonders if he’ll get the opportunity to get used to it. It’s silly, but he hopes that he can. 

~*~*~*~

The bright flashing lights are dizzying and disorienting, and Liam can smell at least four different types of smoke though he knows that there’s probably far more than that. The X was busy with its usual Thursday night crowd, most of the patrons on the floor while the performers keep to their places on the stage. 

Liam can see Leigh-Anne grinding on the stage with her girlfriend Perrie, singing this incredibly sexual track to each other. More than a few people are getting a little flustered. Liam hasn’t quite decided if he’s in that category yet or not. 

He isn’t really paying much attention to the room, mind focused on other things. He passes Jade a $10 tip when she pauses by the table to give him his drink, a basic vodka redbull, and she gives him a flirty smile that he returns, admittedly without much heart. It’s as soon as she’s gone that Niall comes back to the booth, sliding in with pink cheeks that probably have nothing to do with intoxication. Liam raises an eyebrow, takes a sip of his drink, and waits. 

“Alright, the foght next week is going to be against Nordman Douggan. From what I’ve gathered, he’s a bit of a brute who tends to foght dirty and hard. He’s also known as a one punch knockout. Ya can take him, I believe in ya,” Niall said, swiping Liam’s drink and downing a good portion of it. Liam signals Jade that he needs a new drink and she giggles as she sends him a thumbs up. 

Liam nods at Niall and then turns his attention back onto the stage, watching as Leigh-Anne and Perrie rub up against each other in a way that suggests that one of them is definitely in the process of getting off. Judging from the red in Perrie’s face, it might be her. The shit this place gets away with. It’s pretty fucking amusing. 

“Are ya even listening to me? I’m giving ya quality advice mate,” Niall snapped, clapping his hands in front of his face. Liam jumps at the noise and returns his attention back to his friend. “Seriously, what has been happening with ya recently? It’s like yer a million miles away. Did ya even come home last night?” 

It’s a little sad that Liam’s cheeks heat up at the observation and of course Niall notices immediately. The fighter watches as his best friend’s face lights up and then almost instantly darkens. Liam knows that Niall is against him getting into anything with Zayn, fully aware of just how much they are putting at risk. The thing is that Liam has come to terms with the fact that he can’t stay away from the other man. The l-word is on the tip of his tongue and it’s only a matter of time before it slips out. Going by the look on the Irishman’s face, he knows it too. 

“Yer playin’ with fire. We can’t afford to get dragged into this mob bullshit. Ya do understand that if we get caught with attachments, of any kind, all the money ya earned for yer mum will be taken. We’ll get taken in for questioning and ya can’t help yer family from prison,” Niall stated, a vicious edge to his voice that had Liam feeling uncomfortable exposed. As badly as he wanted to deny it and lash out, he bit his tongue and forced the boiling anger aside. Because he isn’t wrong. 

If this ends badly, he won’t be the only one in trouble. 

~*~*~*~

It’s almost stupidly late, so late it’s early morning actually, and Liam is still awake. Niall’s words have kept him up. It’s the anxiety and paranoia that he hasn’t felt since he left home a few years ago. He keeps pacing his bedroom, hair a disaster from how many times he’s run his hands through it. 

His phone is laying innocently on his bed, taunting him actually. He was locked up in an internal debate. On the screen was his father’s phone number, ready to be dialed the moment he hit it. Which is like 90% of his problem. 

A solid portion of the money he makes off of his fights gets sent back home. The thing is, it’s more money than he should be making. 

His family is under the impression that he has a job as a personal trainer and he’s sending them almost double what he should be making. That, on top of the fact that he has to make rent, it raises a more than a few alarms. They keep questioning him, pressuring him to tell them the truth but he can’t. He knows that they won’t take the money if they know where it’s coming from. They can’t afford to do that. 

After taking a couple more minutes, Liam steeled his nerves, picked up his phone, and dialed the number. A quick glance at the clock tells him that it’ll be five am at home and he prays that he isn’t waking anyone up. Because that would make him an asshole. 

Four rings. Then a click. Liam holds his breath.

“Hello?” comes his father’s voice. A weird sense of relief floods Liam and he drops onto his bed, head in his hand as he breathes. Holy fuck. It is so good to hear his voice. 

“Dad?” Liam asks hesitantly. He hears the sharp intake on the other end and he can feel the surprise leaking through the phone. And it hurts. Like he’s actually surprised. 

“Liam? Is that really you? What’s wrong? Why are you calling so late? Or early, I guess. I have no idea what time it is over there…” He trails off. Liam can feel tears building and then feels ridiculous for wanting to cry over something so simple. But. It’s been a few years since he’s been home, a few months since he last picked up the phone. He doesn’t hold it against himself. 

He clears his throat, trying to work his muscles around the lump that’s just appeared. “Nothing’s wrong, I just. I felt like I needed to call you. Check in. See how things are. How Mom’s doing. It’s been a while.” Liam cringes at the phrase, knowing damn well it’s his own fault. His father doesn’t comment though. 

The man sighs heavily, the weight of the action coming through clearly. “She’s not doing so well. The cancer isn’t responding to the treatment as well as we hoped. Even with the money you’re giving us, it’s not even making a dent in the bills. The doctors are talking about a more aggressive form of treatment, they’re just worried that she won’t be strong enough to keep fighting.” 

His father’s words don’t settle right in his chest. Liam makes a note to talk to Niall about getting more bets. They need to pull more income. “But Mom’s always been a fighter.”

The older man laughs but it’s so exhausted. “That’s what I keep telling them. Thank you for the money by the way. I know you don’t have a job as a personal trainer. Just, tell me that whatever you’re doing is safe.”

Liam swallows down the tears. “I can’t lie to you Dad. Please don’t ask me to.” 

He sighs. “That’s what I thought.” Liam goes to protest but the older man cuts him off. “Don’t. Don’t tell me what you do. Just, please, be careful. I can’t risk losing you too.”

Okay. Wow. Fuck. Yeah, that hurts. He coughs, a vain attempt to dislodge the lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest. “I love you. I’ll try to call more often. Tell Mom I love her too. I miss you guys.” The words don’t quite fit right in his mouth and he prays that his dad doesn’t hear it. 

He can hear the tears in his father’s voice and it makes his own fall. “I love you too son. And I will. Good luck. I’ll talk to you later.”

He makes his own goodbye and hangs up, dropping back on his bed. He crosses his arms over his eyes and tries to not drown in the emotional pain. This, this is why he never calls. It’s easier to pretend everything is okay if he doesn’t know. When he does, he can’t ignore it. 

It’s kind of fucked, but Liam knows that he needs to get his mind off of his mother’s future and concentrate on his own. When his vision clears, he picks up his phone and texts a familiar number. 

_Can I see you tonight?_

Zayn’s confirmation is almost instantaneous and Liam is grateful. He feels bad about using the other man to forget his life problems, but he can’t deny that it’s a pretty good distraction. With hips like his, it’s hard to remember why he was upset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think pretty please.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update? So soon? Whaaaaa? I've got no explanation. Shit goes down. Ya know, for a story about a fighter, there has not been a lot of fight scenes so far. I should fix that. 
> 
> Sidenote: keep an eye on the tags because within the next few chapters, I'm going to be updating them. Why not do it now you ask? Well, I don't want to yet. 
> 
> Anything else? No idea. Sorry for the short chapter. Unedited. Like that's even a surprise. Thank you for all the feedback I got on the last chapter. You'll get your answer soon enough, no worries. 
> 
> Warnings: kind of smut? It's like not even a paragraph.

So. It might be time for Liam to admit that his sense of self-preservation might be a little, well, skewed. Or lacking. Or, ya know, nonexistent. 

It wasn’t his _best_ idea ever to antagonize his opponent who’s like, ya know, 100 pounds on him and looks like he could bench press a train no problem. His ears are still ringing from one well-placed punch that Liam just didn’t duck away from fast enough. The lights of the dimly lit bar seem too bright and he’s knows that he’s probably got a concussion, or damn near. 

The ref is standing over him and his voice comes through the buzzing, asking him if he can continue. Liam can’t risk losing this fight. He just can’t. 

He gets to his feet, and sways a little unsteady. He waves off the man who moves to steady him. Already looks weak, can’t afford to make it worse. 

Nordman grins, his front two teeth missing thanks to Liam. So he’s pissed. And he knows that Liam isn’t doing so well. He’s gotta watch his back. 

He shoves every thought of pain to the back of his mind, pushes himself to keep his stance. The bell rings. And they fight. 

A handful of punches that don’t land and a few shots blocked pass. They aren’t going anywhere. Until it seems like switch gets flipped in the other man and Liam finds himself backed into a corner, forcing him into a braced defense. He can’t do much more than try to defend himself and he feels ridiculous for not being able to fight back. 

It feels like watching a goddamn dog fight, a pitbull on steroids versus a kicked puppy. It’s so heavily uneven in the worst way. Niall was right, Nordman does fight dirty. Liam tries to hold a few morals in the ring. But desperation breeds a certain exception to the rules. 

Like a dog going for the throat, that’s exactly what he does. He slams the heel of his palm into Nordman’s throat, not hard enough to crush but just enough to wind him and choke him out. Thankfully, it’s enough to knockout him out for the round. It leaves them at a tie.

Those aren’t good odds. 

Liam will make it work. 

He feels something warm, something that is definitely not sweat, drip into his right eye. He doesn’t have to look to know that it came from a wound on his forehead, more than likely caused by the hit from his opponent earlier. It serves to light his fire and he lets the anger simmer below the surface. 

The fighter feels his cheek throb from where he bit it and he spits out the blood filling his mouth. Seeing the rusty spit pisses him off even more and he’s ready to kick this motherfucker’s ass. 

The bell rings again and Liam’s on him before Nordman can even get his bearings. Liam’s pissed enough that he incorporates some of his MMA training into the boxing. Counts his blessings that these fights are anything goes as long as no weapons are pulled. 

A roundhouse kick lands against the other man’s diaphragm and as he’s going down, Liam comes at him with a solid right hook. It connects and he hears a very unpleasant sounding crack as it makes contact with the other man’s jaw.

Nordman’s out like a light before he even hits the mat. 

Problem is, Liam’s still burning with an energy that he can’t dispel without severe repercussions. He jumps out of the ring, completely ignores Niall calling to him, and stalks off into the bathroom. 

It’s empty and that’s such an idle, empty thought that doesn’t quite cross the forefront of Liam’s mind. 

With a sound that cannot be described as human, Liam starts punching the wall, actually managing to break the tile. His knuckles are bleeding through the tape. It’s not enough. 

A cough sounds behind him and Liam rounds on the other occupant, ready to lash out. Until he sees that it’s Zayn. 

“Wow, what did the wall ever do to you? I imagine it must’ve been something horrible,” Zayn says, casually pushing himself off the doorframe. He locks the door behind him and comes up to Liam, but doesn’t touch him. 

The fighter growls at him, intense amounts of just unbridled rage still flooding his veins. Of course, the mobster has an amazing poker face so the fighter has literally no idea if he’s scared or not. He’s thinking probably not. 

“The fuck are you doing here?” Liam snaps, backing away from the other man. He doesn’t want to hurt him, couldn’t live with himself if he did. And in his state, he very easily could. It’s like the thought of his own safety doesn’t even cross Zayn’s mind because he continues to approach, refusing to let Liam put a safe amount of distance between them. 

“You know, for someone who just won a fight, you sure look like you want to kill someone,” Zayn tells him, conversationally. The fighter’s back hits the wall and Zayn finally comes to a stop when mere inches separate them. “Why are you still angry?”

In a motion that Liam doesn’t even realize he does, he flips them, pinning the mobster to the wall. If he hurt Zayn, the other man doesn’t show it. He just raises an eyebrow. A silent challenge. One that Liam can’t ignore. 

Liam shoves a knee between the other man’s legs and pushes every fucked up and volatile emotion into a bruising kiss that leaves them moaning into each other’s mouths. He lets go of one of Zayn’s wrists and that hand comes up to grip his shoulder, blunt nails digging into the skin. He moans at the action, the sharp pain a distraction from the situation in his pants. 

They break apart after a minute, breathing hard. Another breath and Zayn’s sliding a hand down Liam’s chest, scratching lightly through his chest hair. He doesn’t linger though, and then his fingers are teasing at the waistband of his shorts. At Liam’s insistence, Zayn drags them down enough to free his cock. 

He keeps his touch light as he grips Liam’s member. The fighter drops his head to the mobster’s shoulder as the other man begins to jerk him off. Liam can feel the heat of Zayn’s focus, somehow getting even harder. The pleasure curls up in his lower stomach and he knows it won’t last much longer, not with the way Zayn keeps thumbing the head and twisting his wrist just so. 

When he comes, it’s with a muffled groan because Liam bites into the junction of Zayn’s neck where it meets his shoulder. The little bit of guilt that came because of how hard he bit down dissipates when he hears the tiny whimper Zayn accidently releases. 

It takes a moment but Liam eventually catches his breath. He pulls back, meeting Zayn’s curious gaze. “Thank you,” he says. He feels calmer but not by much. It’s no longer the brutal rage he could barely control. It’s still there, but not so prominent. 

The mobster shrugs off his thanks. When he goes to repay the favor, Zayn catches his hand. “I’m fine. This was about you.”

“Really? You’re okay with that?” Liam asks, a little bit skeptic. The mobster nods and presses their lips together again. He lets go of his hand and Liam brings it up to cup his cheek, rubbing his thumb over his cheekbone. They break apart and Zayn seems to lean into his touch a little bit more. 

“Niall is angry at you, for blowing him off,” Zayn says. Liam sighs and drops his forehead against Zayn’s, gently. An angry Niall is not easy to deal with.

“Of course he is.” Zayn huffs out a giggle. Despite himself, Liam smiles. “So, how did you manage to convince him to stay out there instead of coming in here and yelling at me?”

Zayn shrugs. “I told him that I would calm you down so that you two could have a civil conversation.”

“Do you think he knows that us talking is you giving me a handjob?” Liam asks. Zayn grins.

“I’m pretty sure he had a good idea. Go talk to your friend. I’ll see you later,” the mobster tells him, shoving him away softly. Liam brings him in for one last quick kiss. Then Zayn is ducking out of the bathroom, leaving Liam to clean himself up. 

So he does and then braces himself for the verbal beatdown he’s about to receive. 

~*~*~*~

It’s a lot later when Niall and Liam finally leave the bar. The sun is long gone and the moon shines overhead. 

A sense of wrong has settled into Liam’s gut. It showed up about the time Zayn left. A few minor mishaps when he was younger have led Liam to trust his gut instinct no matter what. And it’s currently telling him that something is very, very wrong. 

The paranoia follows him home. 

For a damn good reason. 

The front door has been kicked in, barely hanging on by the hinges. Liam’s on high alert, and a quick glance to his left shows that Niall is too. The protective motherfucker in him shoves Niall behind him as they go inside. 

(Yes, it’s stupid to go into a place that has obviously been broken into but given the current circumstances, the police cannot get involved.) 

What happened to the door was a pretty clear indicator as to what the inside might look like but Liam was definitely not prepared for what greeted him. 

The entire place looked like it had been tore apart. Like the aftermath of a hurricane, shit was everywhere. Furniture was overturned and broken. Glass was shattered all over the floor. The list goes on. 

Cautiously, Liam ventures in further and finds that the damage spreads throughout the entire place. He digs through the mess in his room, but can’t find anything missing. And Niall does the same for his own room with similar results. 

It occurs to Liam then. This was an intimidation tactic. From who? Well, he’s got a few guesses. And by a few, he means one. 

So, he pulls out his phone and texts a very, very familiar number. 

Then settles in and waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think pretty please.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say. 
> 
> Like always, unedited. No warnings. Please enjoy.

It takes Zayn maybe twenty minutes to get there.

When he does, he’s not alone.

Liam is surprised to see Harry Styles with him, along with the other man that usually sits at his table during his fights. 

Before he can ask why the fuck the other two are there, the unknown man holds up his badge. “Detective Louis Tomlinson. What happened here?” he asked, stepping into the room. He’s just looking around, not touching anything. “Have you tampered with the crime scene at all?”

Niall answers him before Liam can even open his mouth. “Only our rooms. Just ta see if anything was taken.” The detective nods and writes something down in his phone. Styles doesn’t leave his side, not quite hovering but not quite anything else. 

Liam takes the opportunity to approach Zayn, who’s examining everything with a completely blank expression. Actually, Liam’s almost tempted to go as far as to say he looks bored. He resists the urge to grab the other man and shake him, feeling only mildly overwhelmed with nameless emotions. 

“What are they doing here?” Liam hisses, grabbing Zayn’s arm. He seems nonplussed. It irks Liam. Fans the fire. 

“They were already with me when you texted,” he explains, calmly prying Liam’s fingers off of him. He puts some distance between them and Liam acknowledges that it’s probably for the best. 

“So you just brought them with you?” the fighter snaps. Zayn sighs. 

“Despite whatever you may think, you can trust them. They’re loyal to me, not my father,” Zayn whispers. He suddenly scoffs. “He wishes he could have my connections.” That last part is said so quietly Liam isn’t actually sure he was supposed to hear it so he doesn’t comment. But he does file that information away for later. 

He turns away, watching as Louis pokes his way through the apartment, stopping randomly to take various pictures. 

Liam wonders if this should bother him but it really doesn’t. He glances to the side and sees Harry standing by the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone with an intense look of concentration on his face. 

The fighter rubs his forehead, feeling the headache pulse underneath his fingertips. No concussion. Doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt like hell though. 

He must’ve zoned out for a minute because he jumps when he feels gentle, if hesitant, hands touch his face. Liam blinks and Zayn’s face comes into focus, expression blank minus his worried eyes. The fighter tries to give him a smile but knows that it falls flat. 

In between blinks, Liam finds himself sitting at the counter with a bag of ice resting over the bruise on his jaw. Zayn’s holding the ice. He’s resting his forehead against Liam and it takes the fighter a second to realize that they’re breathing in sync. 

He doesn’t know what to do with that information. 

“You two are so domestic. It’s sicken,” Detective Tomlinson calls out from the living room. Liam himself doesn’t jump, but his heartbeat fucking does. It’s not the most pleasant feeling. 

“Shove off Lou. Just because your own relationship is going nowhere doesn’t mean you can hate on mine,” Zayn replies. He speaks at a normal volume but it speaks volumes that he doesn’t have to go louder for his friend (????) to hear him. (Are they even friends? Liam has no idea. He really doesn’t know much and it isn’t settling well with him.)

The detective scoffs, not quite bitterly. It’s like a shade or two away from that. “You give the boy some dick and the next thing you know, it’s like he owns the fucking world,” he snarks, typing away into his phone. 

For the first time that Liam can remember, Harry Styles speaks. “Calm down Lou-Lou, I think it’s cute,” he says. His voice is much deeper than Liam was expecting. Then again, can he really say that he was expecting anything in this situation?

Zayn removes the ice from his jaw and presses a kiss to where the ice was, warming it. A little shiver goes down Liam’s spine and yeah, he snuggles his face into the other man’s. He hears a gagging noise and he’s willing to bet that it comes from the detective. 

He would win, just, ya know, if you were wondering. 

“Really. So sickening. I feel like I’m about to throw up, which would be a terrible thing since I’m here to photograph a crime scene and me puking in it would just contaminate it. You should be ashamed of yourselves,” Tomlinson said, not even once glancing at them as he picked through the mess. 

Liam paid him no mind, keeping his limited focus on the man in front of him, who was now running his fingers through Liam’s hair. Zayn’s touch was gentle and he felt soft. For someone so small, he really wasn’t terribly boney. 

“Are you okay?” The mobster whispers, brushing his fingertips against the bruise. 

“I’m fine. Just a little sore. Mostly tired. Hella pissed off honestly,” Liam replied. He curled his hand into the small of Zayn’s back, holding him closer. The mobster hums, the vibrations caressing Liam’s skin. 

He can feel himself crashing and he’s so fucking tired. He hopes that Detective Tomlinson is almost done because he’s fading fast. Time seems to drag on and Liam finds himself jerking awake from a half awake/half asleep state by Tomlinson’s voice. 

“Do you guys have any idea as to who could’ve done this?” he asks, putting his phone away. 

“None. I can’t think of anyone. Everyone who might’ve doesn’t know where we live,” Niall said, shaking his head. 

Liam pulls his head back from where it was resting on Zayn’s shoulder and looks at Niall. It’s a bit of a stretch but he might have an idea. 

“Zayn? Is this the type of thing that someone in the mafia might do?” Liam asks, making eye contact with his… boyfriend? Fuck buddy? (He makes a mental note to ask him about that later, when they’re alone.)

The mobster in question cocks his head off to the side as he considers it. He looks around, examining the chaos. “Yes. I don’t know why Father would do this though. You haven’t done anything,” he finally says, looking down at Liam. 

So, Zayn suspects the Don too. And now that he’s said it, he can see that everyone else is thinking about it too. 

“If it was him, I don’t know how he knows where I live though. I had them pick me up from the bar,” Liam states, rubbing his head. All this suspicion is giving him a headache. 

“Your address can be easily found though. It isn’t that hard to find out where someone lives nowadays,” Tomlinson points out. Liam groans because that isn’t something that he wanted to know. 

Niall is looking a bit concerned and a bit annoyed. “So, what? What are we supposed to do if he decides to pay us a visit again? Just look around, this was a fockin’ warning. I don’t know about the rest of ya, but I don’t want to see what would happen if he decides to follow through with his threat.” 

Liam can’t really blame him. He doesn’t want to find out either. This entire situation is beginning to grate on his nerves to no end. He never asked for this. Any of it. But, as the saying goes, no good deed goes unpunished. And fuck whoever made that a thing.

“I have a spare apartment that you guys could stay in for the time being. He wouldn’t know to look for you there. I don’t really use it anyways,” Harry says. Liam just kind of blinks at him for a minute. This guy can’t be real. 

“You just happen to have a spare apartment laying around? That you are completely willing to let two virtual strangers stay in for the time being? What the fuck?” Liam asks. 

Harry shrugs, like he doesn’t understand why this is a big deal. “Yeah. Like I said, it’s not like I use it anyways.” 

Before Liam can try to protest it, Zayn’s tapping his cheek to get his attention. “I know that it seems weird but I would take it. It’s not like you have a lot of options at the moment and you know that if my father is looking for you, if this really was his work, then staying here really isn’t an option. He will be back. He can’t find out where Harry lives. He doesn’t have the authority or the connections anymore. It’s honestly your best bet.”

Niall speaks up. “What about a hotel?” Zayn shakes his head. 

“It’s not that hard to track a credit card, and even with fake names, he can find you.” He turns back to Liam, his thumbs stroking over the fighter’s cheekbones. “Please babe, I just want to keep you safe until we can find out what’s going on.” 

Many minutes pass as Liam thinks about it. It feels a lot like running away and it doesn’t sit right with him but he’s not seeing any other options that are more appealing. “Are you sure he won’t find us?” Liam asks. Harry nods. 

“This one isn’t public record. I use it for when I need to disappear,” he replies. Liam doesn’t ask why Harry would need to disappear. Considering who his dad is, the fighter can see why he would want to not be in the public eye. Desmond Styles is very good at making headlines for all the wrong reasons. 

"Why are you doing this? Why would you help two people you've never meet before?" Liam asks. Harry shrugs again. He carefully makes his way through the mess to come stand closer to the group. 

"I'm not doing this for you, I'm doing this for Zayn," Harry tells him. And Liam can accept that. Sort of. Makes him a bit more wary but he doesn't have much room to talk since he's putting a lot of trust into a stranger. An uneasy silence falls over the room as the Irishman and the fighter weigh out the options. 

After a bit, Liam meets Niall’s eyes and can see his own hesitation reflected in them along with the same general acceptance that there isn’t anything else that they could do. 

“So,” Liam starts, “where is this place?” 

~*~*~*~*~

“Is this really what he calls laying low?” Niall asks skeptically, with a hint of awe.

Harry’s _spare_ apartment is fucking massive. Like, Liam doesn’t even understand how it’s qualified as a spare. It’s not penthouse but it’s pretty damn close. 

Where Zayn’s place was mostly white, Harry’s is mostly black and silver with minimal white accents. The floor to ceiling windows offer a gorgeous view of the New York City skyline. It also feels warmer and more inviting than the mobster’s place. He could actually imagine them living here, together, quite easily. 

He throws that thought out immediately. Now is not the time to be daydreaming about an impossible future. 

But, goddamn, is it tempting. 

Liam sits down on the black leather sofa, buttery smooth underneath his hand. Makes him wish that his jacket had this kind of softness to it. The fireplace is currently going, adding to the ambiance and reminding the fighter that winter is coming. The falling leaves and the crisp nights haven’t done that enough apparently. 

Niall comes and sits down on the matching couch adjacent to him. They sit, listening to the fire. 

After a moment, the Irishman speaks. 

“This is all so focked.” Liam hums in agreement. Niall throws his arms over his face and groans. The fighter wiggles his toes against the plush white carpet, marveling at the feeling. Okay, so he isn’t completely there. He’s just so fucking tired and the stress is making him a bit loopy. 

“What are we going to do? Why is the Don targeting us? I can’t spend the rest of me life running,” Niall asks, dropping his arms but continues to stare up at the ceiling. Liam shrugs because he really doesn’t have an answer. He sounds as tired as the fighter feels and he can’t blame him. Neither of them asked for this. This was never supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The fighting was only supposed supply good money to help out back home. Liam didn't mean to get caught up with the mafia. He didn't mean to put a price on his head. He didn't mean to fall for the Father's son.

That being said, he kind of wants Zayn here to cuddle. Like, this desire could not have come at a worse time but he’s tired and in pain and stressed out and he just wants to cuddle the fuck out of his crush okay? Sue him. 

“Hopefully this all blows over soon,” Liam replies. He knows that it’s not going too. That this is just wistful thinking but something is going to have to happen soon. They’re heading towards a standstill. He can see it. Someone is going to make the first move and it won’t be Liam. He just wants to know what the Don is planning, what he’s playing at, because nothing he’s done so far makes sense. 

He’s just praying when the shitstorm hits, he won’t be standing alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like always, please let me know what you think. I know that it seems so out of the blue but I swear that everything will make sense soon. Hopefully. Thank you for reading and thank you for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks that I've received. 
> 
> (Also, if you're wondering, they suspect Zayn's dad. They have no idea who did this.)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #sorrynotsorry
> 
> unedited and no warnings apply

The snow crunched loudly underneath Liam’s boots. He ducked his head against the frigid winds, squinting, trying to see through the harsh snowfall. He burrowed into his jacket more, wishing that he had thought to grab a coat heavier than the leather. It might just be his imagination, but he could swear that he could feel the unforgiving material stretch as taunt as it could go. Anymore and he’s in danger of ripping it apart at the seams. 

The cold air is burning his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Liam groans. It’s only fucking November. 

“It’s only a few blocks, you said. It won’t take long, you said. It’s not supposed to snow until this evening, you said. You’re a dirty fucking liar, I said,” Liam said bitterly. He snaps his jaw shut, trying in vain to keep his teeth from chattering so much. It’s a wasted effort. 

Zayn laughs at him. “I also told you that it would be cold and that you should bring a heavier jacket. It’s not my fault you had to be Joe Macho and not listen to me.” 

Liam huffs and doesn’t dignify that with a verbal reply. He flinches as another blast of wind sends even more snow into his face. The umbrella that he mocked Zayn for carrying earlier doesn’t seem so stupid now. 

It’s like Zayn hears his thoughts because he raises the umbrella a little bit higher, enough so that Liam can get under it too. In gratitude (and for entirely selfish reasons, let’s be honest), Liam takes hold of the item and puts an arm around the mobster’s shoulder, dragging him in closer. 

Zayn just goes with it, snuggling in closer and putting his own arm around Liam’s waist as they continue their trek to the restaurant. 

Not a sight usually seen, how deserted the streets are. Granted, it is snowing like a mother but still. There are so few cars out and minimal people walking about, him and Zayn included. But it was mostly for Liam’s sake, he was going a bit stir crazy. 

It’s only been a few weeks since the break in and they are no closer to finding answers than they were in the beginning. It’s making Liam a little edgy. The only bright to this whole mess is that he gets to see Zayn more often. 

The mobster in question has taken to spending more time with Liam, providing comfort and companionship as Niall did whatever it was that Niall does while Liam trains. Since Liam hasn’t been allowed to train, he’s had to find a way to entertain himself while he let the concussion heal. 

(They had gone to Leigh-Anne the day after the break in. Found out that yeah, Liam actually did have a concussion and the fact that he hadn’t died in his sleep was a fucking miracle. That, and the fact that he hadn’t sustained more damage was amazing too.) 

Regardless, he’s been ordered by the singer/nursing student to let the injury heal and not participate in any more fights. Since Liam is mildly terrified of her, he listened. To the best of his abilities. He’s supposed to be taking it easy, but spending time with your… 

(Fuck. What the hell is Zayn to him? He was going to figure that out. It’s been like two weeks since he made that decision. Damn. That concussion knocked more than a few brain cells loose. He needed those. Not anymore apparently.)

Moving on, spending time with Zayn did not mean that he was taking it easy. Yeah, they probably should’ve laid off the sex, but when you have an actual Greek god at your side, you tend to want to take advantage of the situation. That, and Liam is young and horny. Shit happens. 

Besides, there was no greater sight than Zayn Malik riding his cock, skin glistening in the dim lighting with his head thrown back, exposing the long column of his neck as he lets out these high pitched whines and gasps. (There are so many bite marks hidden underneath his coat. Liam knows only because he was the one to put them there, watches with amusement as Zayn presses his fingers to them every once in a while, watching as he suppresses a shiver.) 

Liam shakes his head, pushing away idle thoughts as they continue to walk to the restaurant, something with an unbelievably ridiculously fancy-sounding name that he doesn’t even want to attempt to pronounce. He gave up trying to convince the mobster to go somewhere else, somewhere where Liam didn’t feel quite so out of his element. It was a lost cause in the end, almost not even worth the battle. 

They lapse into silence, the kind that’s more peaceful than awkward. The snow is dampening all the noises, like wrapping the city in a fluffy blanket. Even the police sirens in the distance sound angelic. Like angels from hell, but still.

“So, where exactly are we going?” Liam asked. It’s not like he really cared but they’ve been walking for almost an hour and it would be nice to know just how much further they would have to go. Seriously, it’s snowing and he’s fucking sweating. The conundrum is stressing him out.

“I promise that it’s not much longer. Just another block or two,” Zayn said, bumping his head against Liam’s shoulder. It’s not much of a comfort but it is something. 

Sure enough, it is the next block over. It’s a little pub, tucked in the financial district. It would be easy to overlook. Liam would know; he’s walked past it more times than he can count. 

Regardless, they go inside and get a table towards the back, Zayn’s seating choice of preference. Not that Liam could blame him. If the fighter was in the mobster’s position, he would more than likely do the same. 

They don’t have a conversation after they take a seat, or even after they place their orders. It’s still not awkward. It’s just a compatible silence. Their meals come and they are about to start eating. That’s the moment Zayn’s phone buzzes on the table. 

Liam doesn’t see the name or the number that flashes on the screen, because Zayn snatches it up so fast that it can’t come off as anything other than suspicious. The tension that has been plaguing the mobster, since probably before they even met, has come back full force. To the degree that it’s actually painful to look at. 

But Liam plays it cool. He’s worried as fuck but feigns nonchalance as he takes a bite of his steak and watches his companion. Zayn checks his phone, chewing his bottom lip as he scans the message. He doesn’t reply to it, sets it down face-down and shoves a forkful of food into his mouth. 

Okay, that’s not suspicious.

“So, what was that about?” Liam finally asks, keeping his tone light and free of any and all accusations that he wants to throw. 

Zayn is actually startled by the question. Like he’s been caught. Like a deer in the headlights. It’s a fast flash of emotion but Liam still sees it. Wouldn’t have missed it. 

“What was what?” Zayn replies, looking at his meal. His movements are damn near frantic as he cuts into the chicken salad. He drops the silverware like they burned him and takes a drink of water. His hand is shaking as he sets the glass down. Something is seriously wrong. 

“Cut the bullshit Zayn. What was that text about?” Liam pressed, leaning forward and dropping his voice. The mobster doesn’t look at him. He ponders the question for a moment before going back to destroying his food. It’s very unsettling to see him so frazzled. 

“It was nothing. Just Harry confirming our dinner plans for tomorrow night,” he responds, still not looking at him. It was such a blatant lie that Liam couldn’t even pretend to be fooled. 

“Seriously, what the hell is going on with you?” Liam asked, leaning forward. He keeps his voice below a whisper, actually it comes out more as a hiss. The pub is damn near empty, and any words/noise carries. He would prefer to not have anyone overhear this. So why are they talking about this in public? Well, apparently he likes to live dangerously. 

Zayn glares at him, the intensity dropping the temperature in the room quite a few degrees. Liam refuses to let himself be deterred but makes a mental note that this expression is quite terrifying and that he’s playing with fire now. He needs to be careful. Maybe. Or not. Live life on the edge and all that. 

“I would really rather not discuss this here. Or at all. How about you just fucking drop it?” Zayn snapped, shoving a forkful of food into his mouth. 

Liam scoffed. Didn’t mean to. Did it anyways. Judging from Zayn’s expression, he did not appreciate that. “You want me to just drop it? Really? You’ve been acting weirder than normal. More paranoid than normal.”

“Oh really? And how would you know? How do you know that this isn’t my normal level of paranoid?” Zayn asked, leaning back. He feigning nonchalance but Liam isn’t stupid. He can see through the act. Not to brag, but he always has. 

The fighter copied the action. Only he crossed his arms too. “Because I know you. Contrary to what you seem to believe, I know you better than you think. And this isn’t just paranoia. You’re scared. And you have been since the night of the break in. Matter of fact, it seems to be getting worse. Go ahead and deny it, I won’t stop you. But you know I’m not wrong.”

Zayn clearly wasn’t expecting that. But it was true. There was an emotion in his eyes that night, when Harry was offering them a place to stay. It was the reason that the fighter said yes, despite everything in him wanting to say no. Liam couldn’t place it then. Now he can. He was just guessing, but now he knows he’s right. 

They lapsed into silence. Liam watched as more patrons came in. The noise level in the place went up. They did not contribute to it. 

“Believe me when I say that I want to but I just can’t tell you right now. I will, soon. But not now,” Zayn said, not making eye contact. It took literally everything in Liam to not push, to let it go. 

“Okay. You promise?” Liam asked, feeling a bit childish. The mobster smiled, looking just a little bit more than brittle. 

“Of course. I promise.”

Just like that, it went back to normal. They continued to eat but Liam couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Really, really fucking off. 

~*~*~*~

The call came late that night. Liam was still up, despite how tired he was, just sitting in the living room, reading. Still unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. It was Harry.

“Please tell me that Zayn is with you.” Straight to the point. And immediately Liam is on edge. 

“No, he’s not. Why?” he asked hesitantly. 

Harry makes a frustrated sound, his heavy footsteps echoing in the background. “He’s late.”

“Late?” 

The senator’s son makes the noise again. More desperate. More frantic. The fighter understands the emotion. “He’s never late. Never. And if he thought he was going to be, he would call. Or send a text. I haven’t heard from him since this afternoon. When he was with you.”

“Maybe he just lost his phone,” Liam replied, cautious. He went into the kitchen. Not sure why. Harry laughs humorlessly. 

“Liam, you and I both know that Zayn doesn’t lose his phone. He’s over two hours late. _Two hours_. When was the last time you saw him?” 

The fighter takes a deep breath. “About 2 this afternoon, when I dropped him off at his dad’s hotel. Wait, wait, wait. Back up, what are you trying to say?” 

A heavy sigh sounds in his ear. Already, Liam’s heart stops. “I think he’s been taken.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: graphic description of injury.
> 
> Unbetaed.

The morning sun was trying its damnedest to break through the early morning haze to no avail. Liam could understand the desperate attempt with nothing to show for its efforts. He could understand it completely. 

He could feel his exhaustion tugging at him, begging him to go to sleep. Unfortunately, his worry wouldn’t let him rest. The anxiety twisted his stomach into knots, making him unable to keep anything down. 

It’s been hours since Harry’s call with no results. The senator’s son was with him and Niall, pacing the length of the apartment’s living room, steadily wearing a path into the hardwood floors. 

Harry’s been on the phone with as many of his contacts as possible, trying to find out anything about Zayn’s whereabouts with no real results. Liam can see his own frustration and fear reflected in the other man. 

The sad truth is that there is nothing they can do. 

Due to them being the people that they are, they have very limited options that more often than not leave their hands tied. To say that it’s frustrating, well, that would be an understatement. 

Harry hangs up his phone, just staring at the device in his hand. He weighs it, like he’s prepping to throw it but at the last minute, he puts it away and drops onto the couch. With a frustrated sigh, he puts his head in his hands and just breaths. 

Liam wishes that he knew how to comfort the other man but he’s at a loss. He’s barely keeping himself together as it is. 

Niall places a cup a coffee in front of Harry and hands the other one off to Liam, like the Irish blessing that he is. Not for the first time, Liam is so fucking grateful that his best friend is here. 

“Still no leads?” he asks gently. Harry shakes his head with another sigh, his curls falling loose from the bun that he had them tied in. He reminds the fighter of a haggard housewife, waiting for her cheating husband to come home. Liam has to take a minute to question why that was the comparison that his brain chose to make. 

“I don’t know where he could’ve gone. I don’t think he’s just missing. I just, I don’t know who would take him. What would they want with him?” Harry asks miserably. He folds himself up onto the couch, tucking himself into the corner. Liam marvels at the fact that such a large man is able to fold himself so small. He must have a lot of practice. The thought makes the fighter sad so he pretends that he didn’t just have it and focuses on the matter at hand. 

All the facts are laid out on the table. It all adds up to about nothing. Liam hates this. Hates not knowing what’s about to happen. Hates that he can’t do anything. Being helpless is not a feeling that he gladly partakes in. 

Harry’s phone goes off, startling everyone in the room. Harry jumps up to check it, muttering a quiet “shit” when he sees the message. “I have to go. Dad has a press conference I have to go to. I’m really sorry, but I have to go,” he says, tripping over his words, and his own two feet, as he rushes out the door, texting as quickly as he can. 

The front door slams shut behind him, leaving the rest of the apartment in a rather unsettling quiet. Until it’s broken by a quiet Irish accent. 

“What the fock was that about?” Niall asks, staring after him. Liam just groans and throws his head back, hitting it against the top of the chair. He winces at the impact but shrugs in response to the Irishman’s question.

“I never fucking know with him. I can’t worry about that though. There’s not enough worry left in me for him,” Liam replies, just a little bit bitter.

Niall picks up on his tone and pats his thigh comfortingly. “Don’t worry about him. We’ll find Zayn.” 

Liam really wishes that he had his friend’s optimism, because God knows that it isn’t as easy as it seems. 

~*~*~*~

The rest of the day passes in what pretty much counts as a blur. Liam couldn’t tell you what he did at any point, his mind too wrapped up in whatever possible trouble Zayn could’ve gotten into. Sometimes, he curses himself for having such a creative imagination. Other times, he wonders if he should really invest in going to therapy. Either way, the entire day has passed by with him sitting on the proverbially edge.

That’s not good. 

His focus is so shot that he almost walks straight into traffic five or six times on his way to the gym. Unfortunately, just because his… boyfriend(?) is missing, that doesn’t mean that the rest of his life can be on pause. Due to their circumstances, nobody outside their immediate friend groups know that they are together and it would be so incredibly suspicious if Liam just randomly started asking around about the mobster. 

So Liam has to bite his tongue, and bite back his almost crippling worry, and take out his aggression on a poor punching bag. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the other gym members eyeing him with concern, but he pays them no mind. They aren’t his problem. 

By the time he’s done, hours later, his knuckles are bruised to hell and back and beginning to split, despite the tapping. Really, he would almost be impressed if he wasn’t so fucking tired. He risks it all and takes a shower while he’s there, needing to get the sweat off of him. 

The hot water helps clear his head a little and releases some of the anxiety tensing up his body. His knuckles do eventually crack and bleed, the hard water drying out his skin so much. It hurts but the pain is manageable, not even worth a second thought. He shuts the water off and gets out, drying himself off lazily. 

It’s dark when he leaves the gym. The streets are fairly empty, making it eerie. He’s not a suspicious person by nature, or so he claims, but there’s something almost unsetting about how still the night is. 

A sinking feeling settles in his stomach. He looks behind him, feeling someone’s eyes on him. But there’s no one there.

Something isn’t right. 

He turns on his heel and heads in the opposite direction from his home. He makes it to the main street, still feeling someone watching him. He checks again and still nothing. He hurries his footsteps. 

The sinking feeling twists his stomach into a knot. It hurts to swallow. His throat is too tight. 

Something is really, really fucking wrong. 

Liam resists the urge to run, but only barely. There are so few people on the street that Liam almost doubts for a moment that he really is in Manhattan. Seriously, why is it that when you need a crowd, there never seems to be one? 

He ducks into an alley, barely hidden behind the corner. He peeks his head around but doesn’t see anyone following him. It’s frustrating and bothersome. It’s making him sick. 

With a deep breath, he forces himself to leave his hiding spot. Still no one. Fuck. Okay then. Not good. He takes the long way home, just to be sure. But the feeling never leaves. Shit.

~*~*~*~

Liam is so on edge that he never realizes that there’s a person standing, leaning heavily against the wall, outside the apartment door until he almost trips over them. He will never admit it, but he almost does scream when he finally registers the presence. Before he can yell at them for loitering, he realizes that he knows who this is. At least, he thinks he does. 

“Zayn?” he calls out hesitantly. The figure looks up and Liam could almost cry in a relief. And then almost does anyway when he sees the state that the other man is in. 

Even with the distance separating them, Liam can see that he’s holding his arm at an awkward angle, blood seeping through his fingers. The beginnings of a truly horrendous bruise is forming on his cheek, spreading from his jawline to just underneath his right eye. His lip is split and there’s blood dried to his chin and neck. 

This is all what Liam can immediately see. He almost afraid of what other damage he will find when he really starts looking. 

With a struggle, Zayn pushes himself to his feet, swaying dangerously. Liam rushes forward, mindful of the other’s injuries and gently helps steady him. The mobster still hisses in pain. It doesn’t stop him from curling into Liam’s chest, using his one good arm to hold him close and as tightly as possible. 

“My God, what happened to you?” Liam asks, returning the hug with as much enthusiasm as he dares. It’s then that the fighter realizes that the mobster is dripping wet and shivering. Badly. Shit. 

“I don’t. I. Uh. I don’t. I can’t,” Zayn starts, but can’t seem to finish any of his thoughts. His lips are edged blue, now that Liam is close enough to see them. Okay seriously. Shit. 

“Zayn, we need to get you to a hospital. Right now,” Liam tells him, trying desperately to keep the panic out of his voice. That gets a reaction. 

The other man shakes his head and pulls back, stumbling until Liam grabs his good arm to keep him up. “No. No hospital. They’ll find me there. They can’t find me. Can’t know I’m still alive.” 

“Who? Who will find you? Who’s looking for you? Zayn, seriously. What happened?” Liam asks rapidly. That sinking feeling has returned tenfold now. Not good. Fuck, he really need Zayn to start making sense soon. 

The fighter can see the mobster losing consciousness and quickly. Dear God, how much blood has he lost already? Fuck.

“No hospitals. No. No. No,” Zayn mutters, eyes fluttering. Liam grips both of his shoulders as he slumps into him. 

“Sorry babe, but unconscious people don’t get a say.” Liam says, watching with a heavy heart as Zayn finally passes out. Not wanting to lose more time, he lays the other man down and dials 911, praying that they make it there soon. 

He can see now that his left arm is broken, compound fracture from the looks of it. The sharp end of the bone is ripped through the skin, leaving behind a massive open gash that still sluggishly bleeding. It makes him sick but he puts pressure on it as he talks to the dispatcher, trying his best to keep his voice level. There’s so much blood. Holy fuck, there is so much blood. 

Dear God, he hopes they make it there soon. 

Because it would really fucking suck if he gets Zayn back just in time to lose him forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, has it really been almost two months? I'm sorry guys. I'll try to update more frequently. This chapter was a bitch to write, the beginning was at least. But c'est la vie. I'll try to have the next one out soon. Sooner. 
> 
> Anyways, leave feedback pretty please.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even come up with an excuse. I don't even know what happened. I'm sorry. I'm not abandoning this story though. I'm far too invested in it.

One, two, three, left jab.

One, two, three, right hook. 

One, two- 

The hit doesn’t connect and he slams his forearm against the rough canvas. A low grunt escapes his lips as he presses his forehead against the punching bag. 

Unwelcome, the image of Zayn laying in the hospital, hooked up to countless monitors, flashes across his mind. The sudden burn of tears in his eyes makes him squeeze them shut. Draws in a deep breath. Then keeps going. 

One, two, three, left jab. 

One, two, three, right hook. 

Discomfort grips his chest, making it hard to breath. Just below the sound of the flesh hitting canvas, he can hear the wheeze as Zayn tried to breathe through broken ribs. 

It’s enough to make him stop.

Liam wipes his face with the back of his hand, wincing as sweat gets into his busted knuckles. There’s blood on the canvas of the punching bag. He doesn’t remember bleeding. 

The open space of the gym is claustrophobic and he leaves, sucking in the smog of Manhattan. The normal hustle and bustle of the city is nothing more than muted background noise. 

He heads home. 

It’s not a surprise that he’s the only one there. 

Niall went out earlier that morning to go find out any information. He has a few leads but nothing concrete. Nothing to point to any one specific culprit. 

He’s trying his best. 

It’s more than what Liam’s accomplished. 

He wastes more time in the shower than he intended. The warmth of the water doing nothing to bring feeling into the numbness he feels. 

Liam keeps his head bowed as the water beats on his back, watching it swirl down the drain. His hands are shaking. From what, no idea. There’s so many emotions to name but none of them quite fit the bill. 

It’s when the water starts to run cold that he shakes himself out of his stupor and moves to get out. He dries and dresses quickly, avoiding looking into the fogged up mirror. He doesn’t know what he’ll see. 

He doesn’t want to know.

It’s too much to stay in the apartment. The paranoia from the days before is still lingering in his heart and he knows that he can’t shake it. Being alone is too much.

The constant feeling of being watched is too much. 

He shoves a beanie on his too-damp hair, locks the door, and heads to the hospital. 

~*~*~*~*~

God, Liam really hates the smell of hospitals. The stench of antiseptic is just too much. The moment he steps foot into one, he just wants to run as far away as possible and never look back. No matter how many times he goes to one, his feelings towards them never change. In fact, his opinion of them further worsen. Full honesty, he doubts they ever become positive. 

Regardless of his own discomfort and unease, he stays. 

The heart monitor attached to Zayn continues to beep steadily, the rhythm soothing as much as it is irritating. His chest rises and falls, each breathe borderline monotonous. He’s a little wheezy. It’s a little concerning. 

But he’s still alive and in the end, that’s more than enough.

He runs his thumb over the tendons in the back of his hand, mindful of the IV. They had just moved him from the ICU a few hours ago, no internal injuries or major concerns that would require the extensive observation offered there. 

Liam would never admit it aloud, but he was more than a little grateful. For all the wrong reasons. The kind he could never give voice to, even in his own head. 

Zayn’s index finger twitch, startling Liam out of his stupor. He takes a breath that sounds so wrong that the fighter can’t hold back his cringe. He coughs, loud and harsh, wreaking havoc on his bruised and cracked ribs. 

It’s like Liam can hear the water in his lungs still. 

He feels sick. 

He tries to not let it show. 

The mobster turns his head towards him, his eyes still closed. Another minute and a few more wheezy breaths later, he blinks his eyes open, the normally bright amber dulled like a fossil just unearthed. 

“Wha…” he starts to ask, voice nothing more than a weak rasp. Liam holds a cup of water out for him, helping him take a drink. Once Zayn is sufficiently hydrated, he turns his head away until Liam pulls his hand back. “Where am I?”

“The hospital, not under your own name,” Liam replies. Zayn’s expression is unreadable. Liam tries to not fidget. 

“Why did you bring me here?” Zayn finally asks. Liam cocks an eyebrow at him, the same expression he’s so used to seeing on the other man. 

Exasperated, the fighter explains, trying his damnedest to keep his tone level. “You had acute hypothermia, three cracked ribs, a mild concussion, salt water in your lungs, a compound fracture in your left arm with possible muscle damage, and a mess of other injuries that I can’t even remember right this second. Forgive me for thinking that you needed someone a little more qualified to take care of you than some high school dropout, sweetheart.” 

Okay, so that last part was a little bitter, but to be fair, Liam had been worrying about him for the last few days while he had been in a coma. His nerves were more than a little fried.

The mobster blinks at him slowly, like he’s not completely registering everything that Liam just told him. That, Liam could forgive. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, after many moment of silence. Liam blinks at him back.

“Why are you sorry? It’s not like you asked to be beaten to shit,” the fighter responds, wincing slightly at his lack of tack. 

Zayn sighs, which then turns into a coughing fit. When it passes, he turns his head back towards the fighter but keeps his eyes shut. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. It’s all my fault.”

Liam feels his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s all my fault,” Zayn whispers.

“That’s not, Zayn, that’s really not an answer.” Liam reaches out and brushes the limp hair off of his boyfriend’s forehead. He’s burning up. 

“I dragged you into this. I don’t want you to get hurt,” he mutters. 

The fighter takes his hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. The limb feels cold. “I’m here because I want to be. You didn’t force me into anything. I’m a big boy, I can make my own decisions.”

The mobster’s next breath comes out shaky, and he blinks his eyes open to reveal them shiny with unshed tears. “You’re going to get hurt and it’s going to be because of me. It’s all my fault.”

~*~*~*~*~

_You’re going to get hurt and it’s going to be because of me. It’s all my fault ._

Zayn’s words still ring in Liam’s head a few hours later as he’s sitting in Harry’s spare apartment. His mug of tea is sitting on the coffee table, long since gone cold as the television plays on in the background muted. 

He’s not entirely sure how much of the conversation Zayn’s going to remember when he wakes up again, and to be honest, Liam’s not sure how much he wants to know. 

What could he mean by that though? 

A thousand separate possibilities run through his mind, the next worse than the last. Granted, some are downright ridiculous but that’s mostly to keep from freaking himself out even more. 

It occurred to him when he got back to his current place of residency that he still has no idea what happened to his significant other. But going off of what the other man said, he can piece together some kind of an idea. 

The thought makes him sick. 

The sound of a key in the lock makes him jump, springing him to his feet. He’s not quite in the right mindset to actually take someone in a fight and win but he can give it his best shot. 

Niall pokes his head in.

Liam breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Where the fuck have you been all day?” Liam asks, settling back down. 

“Out. I think I may ‘ave found a lead though. Or, at least, someone who can point us in the right direction,” Niall replied, unwinding his scarf from around his neck. 

That caught Liam’s attention. 

“Really? You did? How?” he inquired. He got off the couch again and joined the Irishman in the kitchen as he bustled about to make his own cup of tea. 

“See, I went to the bar and ya know what they say about men with loose lips. Get ‘em drunk enough and soon you’ll have all the state secrets. I got a guy who said that if ya win the next fight, he’ll give us a name and a probable cause.”

Liam leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms across his chest. “Really? And we’re just what, supposed to trust this guy? You just said that he was a drunk.”

“Ay, I know that. But see, I know him. He’s a man of his word. He’ll keep his promise, even if he doesn’t remember it,” Niall said, as he set the kettle onto one of the burners. 

“How can you be so certain that we can trust him?”

Niall sighed, running his hand through his fluffy hair. He looked as exhausted as Liam himself felt. “I knew him. From back in the old country. From back when I lived in Ireland. Trust me when I say that we can trust him. He hadn’t let me down back then, he won’t let me down now.”

“You say that but you can’t be certain. People can change,” Liam replied, just a little bit of salt in his tone. 

The blond turned a sharp look on him. “What is with ya today? I’ve never seen ya so bitter. Not even after ya talked to yer mum. Did something happened with Zayn?” 

Liam rubbed his face. “Yes and no. I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Well, from the beginning would be good place ta start.” 

“That’s the thing. I don’t know where this starts. He woke up while I was there.”

Niall’s face lite up at that, kind of like Liam expected. “Oh, that’s great! So, why are ya being so negative?”

Liam pushed himself off the counter and began to pace about the kitchen. “That’s because we’re no closer to having any kind of an answer than we were before he got attacked. He just kept repeating that it was his fault. That he didn’t mean for me to get hurt. That I’m _going_ to get hurt and it’s going to be because of him.”

A concerned furrow came between Niall’s brows. “Alright, I can see the cause for concern here.” 

Liam nodded. “Yeah. Then he passed back out and I didn’t hear from him again before visiting hours ended. Like, I’m going to go back to the hospital tomorrow and try to talk to him again, but I honestly doubt that I’m going to get more of an answer than I did today. I don’t know what to do Niall.”

“To be honest Payno, there’s not much ya can do. It’s not like yer gonna leave ‘im.” 

“No, of course not. I love him.” 

The admission made them both pause. Niall looked at him, a mix of amusement and worry in the lines on his face. “So, ya do love ‘im.” 

Liam nodded, mostly to himself. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Well, obviously we’re going to be sticking around for a while. Gotta let ‘im know. But, what are we gonna do about the people that are after us, all of us? Because I don’t want to be looking over ma shoulder for the rest of ma life.” 

The fighter hops up onto the counter and leans his head against one of the cabinets. “Yeah, neither do I.” It’s not lost to him that his best friend is scared, as his accent grew thicker the more he talked. But Liam couldn’t find words of comfort for himself, let alone his friend. 

He happens to glance out the window, just in time to see it snowing again. The white flakes falling thick as each man gets lost in their own thoughts. 

The kettle begins to whistle the sharp sound jarring in its intensity. Neither man is closer to a solution, to any kind of an answer. But the next clue or hint has to be coming. 

It’s only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been commenting, bookmarking, leaving kudos, and reading. I really do appreciate it. And I know that I don't respond to comments, it's mostly because I don't know how to without giving the story away. 
> 
> Anyways, here's to hoping that the next update comes before another six months pass.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed. I need to stop writing at 1 in the morning. Neither thing is going to change.

It’s the day before Thanksgiving when Zayn finally gets released. During that time, never once did it come up again that the mobster believed that it was his fault. Actually, they never really talked about the event. Or what happened. Or, anything, really. 

Both men were still paranoid that anyone in the hospital could report back to whomever ordered the hit, so Liam and ‘Yusef’ kept the conversations very surface level. Rarely did anything damning come up. Not that it mattered, they wouldn’t have enough of the pieces to pull together the full story. Or even enough to make an educated guess. 

It was fine. 

Not really.

They were just trying to make it through. 

Liam comes home from the gym, exhausted and weighted. His heart flutters at the sight of Zayn on the couch, but sinks into his stomach when he sees the other man just sitting there, staring out the window. 

He purposely makes his steps loud enough that Zayn won’t be surprised, but he doesn’t even acknowledge his arrival. It’s about what he expects to be truthful. Doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. 

Regardless, he approaches the other man and lays a hand on his shoulder. He presses a kiss to his cheek, getting a ghost of a smile in reward for his effort. 

“Glad to see you out,” Liam mutters, holding Zayn close to him. He can’t hear anyone else in the apartment, but he doesn’t raise his voice. The moment is too precious to him to spoil. 

“Hi babe. I’m glad to be out of there too,” Zayn replies, turning his head to nuzzle Liam’s cheek but keeps his eyes closed. The words ‘and not have to look over my shoulder every time someone walks past my room’ go unspoken but linger heavy in the air. “Did you have a good workout?”

Liam nods. “It was decent. I think I might’ve split my knuckles open again though.”

The last fight, a little over three weeks ago, was brutal. He won, but barely. Liam might’ve fought a little dirty in the end, but he pulled off the win and nobody called him on it so he let it go. Niall’s guy came through. 

Unfortunately, the name didn’t match anyone in the system. (Louis ran it at work, but the only hit he got was on someone who died about three years ago.) The cause was what had Liam up all the night, every night. 

He knew it was what kept Zayn up too. 

Rumors had been going around that someone in the family didn’t like that Zayn was about to inherit the business. Thought he was too ‘soft’, too ‘weak, to be the kind of man to run the family. 

Liam confronted his boyfriend about it. The last the fighter had heard, it was supposed to be Doniya’s fiancée that was going to but Zayn confirmed that he was the next in line, that his father’s will was rewritten. It didn’t make sense but then again, it was politics. When have politics ever made sense? 

Zayn had also quietly confessed that he didn’t want to take over the family. It wasn’t that he couldn’t, Liam damn well knows that he could be just as ruthless as his father, but his heart just wasn’t in it. There was more to it, but Liam couldn’t pry out any more of an answer at the time, so he had let it go. 

Which brings them back to the present. 

Snow was falling out the window, thick fluffy flakes that promised a miserable winter. For just the briefest of moments, Liam let himself have this. Let himself embrace this point in time and snapshot it to memory because times like this were becoming few and far between. 

Zayn broke him out of his trace, sliding a hand along his jaw and then pulling him down of a kiss. “You need to go take a shower babe, you reek.”

“Only if you join me,” Liam teases, only half serious. 

The mobster cocks an eyebrow at him, a smirk playing over his lips. With a fake sigh, he pulls himself to his feet, as graceful as ever even still injured. “If that’s what it takes to get you to stop smelling like a caveman,” he says, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

He takes Liam’s hand and pulls him into the bathroom with him, shutting the door behind them and locking it. 

If his ribs still bothered him, it didn’t show as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing smooth caramel skin to him. Liam couldn’t quite stop himself from licking his lips and putting his hands on Zayn’s waist, pulling him in close. 

Pure hunger and want get poured into the deep kiss he lays on Zayn’s lips, receiving what he’s giving in equal measure. With herculean effort, he detaches himself enough to start the shower, letting it warm up as they finish stripping down to nothing. 

God, even beat to shit, Zayn was still the best thing Liam’s ever had the pleasure to witness in his life. 

He runs his fingers across the angry looking scar left over from the compound fracture, keeping his touch light as he presses another kiss to the other man’s cheek. 

Zayn shivers at his touch. 

Goddamn, Liam’s missed this. 

It Zayn who finally pulls him into the shower with him, turning them so that Liam is under the spray more so than he was. They take turns washing each other, when they could actually pull themselves apart that is. 

The fires’ still burning between them and Liam could feel Zayn’s half-hard length against his leg, just begging to be touched. So that’s what he did. 

Zayn moans into his mouth, one of the most delicious sounds Liam’s ever heard. It was also a causal reminder of how long it’s been since they’ve been with each other. 

Liam wants to take his time taking apart his boyfriend but subjects himself to the reality that it’s been a fair amount of time since the last time that neither of them were going to last long. (They still need to define that title. But that’s what Liam’s taken to calling them in his head so there’s that.) It’s with a couple of well-placed twists of the wrist and rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock that has Zayn coming soon enough, moaning into Liam mouth while digging his nails into the fighter’s bicep. 

Naturally, Zayn returns the favor, though he didn’t have to work at it for very long since seeing Zayn orgasm brought Liam a lot closer to the edge than he originally thought. A few tugs later and Liam’s spilling his load onto his lover and onto the shower wall. 

Which, for whatever reason, made both of them crack up like little schoolchildren. 

They finish showering (making sure to rinse the mess off the tile and the floor) before drying off and dressing again. 

In Liam’s room, he can see Zayn starting to fade so he puts the mobster to bed, making sure to kiss his forehead before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. 

He was tired too, but he was still too keyed up to sleep. 

Liam heard the front door open and close, along with the rustle of bags, which meant that Niall was home. 

Liam stepped out into the living room, seeing his suspicions confirmed as he watched his roommate set the bags down and begin to unpack them. It looked like he had picked up enough food to feed a small army. 

He makes his way into the kitchen and begins to help put the groceries away. Niall and he work in silence, like a well-choreographed dance until the last item was put away. 

Then they just stood there, Niall staring at the floor while Liam looked past him. There’s a tension between them that wasn’t there a month ago and it pisses Liam off because he has no fucking clue as to how he’s going to fix it. He doesn’t know how it’s started or why, but it’s gotten to the point that he can’t quite ignore it. 

“Was it something I did?” Liam finally asks. Okay, so he might be dense sometimes, but he was well aware that the world did not revolve around him. If it did, he wouldn’t be in this fucking mess. 

Niall visibly starts at the question, but doesn’t look at him. It doesn’t bode well. 

When Liam gets ready to ask again, mouth open and everything, does Niall answer. Sort of. 

“It’s not you. And it’s not Zayn either,” he says. Which answers Liam’s next question so he waits for the Irishman to continue. 

And then continues to wait. 

He leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. Niall doesn’t fidget, fuck, he doesn’t even move. It’s eerie and unnerving and Liam doesn’t know how to fix it. 

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” 

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Bullshit.”

That got Niall’s attention. He lifted his head up to glare at him, a sudden chill filling the room. Liam refused to let himself be cowed. 

“I’m not discussing this with ya. Ya got enough on yer plate as it is. I can handle this,” he snaps. 

“Niall, you’re my best friend. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” Liam pleads, allowing himself to let down his guard a little. 

Again, the Irishman takes his sweet time answering. Liam feels antsy. He tries to not let it show. He knows that he’s failing. 

A pained expression crosses Niall’s face and Liam wants to drop it. He wants to make that look go away. It’s not something that he wants to see on the other man’s face. 

Before he can though, he’s talking. 

“It could be nothing. I could just be paranoid. But, given everything that’s been goin’ on, I don’t think that it’s nothing anymore. I don’t want to tell ya because it might put a rift between you and yer boy.”

Yeah, it’s starting to scare Liam. 

“Niall, please, just tell me. I won’t get mad at you. Just tell me what’s wrong,” he begs. He approaches his friend only to have him back away. 

“Liam, I don’t want to trouble ya. You have to believe me.”

The fighter can feel tension gripping his chest. It has to be about Zayn. It has to be. Why else would Niall be so hesitant to tell him?

“Niall, please.”

It must be his tone, or the look on his face (which Liam doesn’t even want to begin to imagine what that might look like) because Niall just sighs. Like he’s resigned himself like a prisoner on death row about to face a firing squad. 

“It’s not about Zayn,” Niall starts. “It’s about his family.”

Before he can ask, Niall pushes on. 

“There’s been rumors circling around for a while now, that there’s something not quite right in the family. Names haven’t been named, but there are people who don’t support the Maliks’ decision in who’s going to inherit the business.”

“What are you talking about?” Liam asks, voice dropping to a whisper. The tension in his chest gets worse.

“I’m sayin’, somebody close to the top ordered the hit on Zayn. It had to be somebody close because they tried to drown him Liam. Only a handful of people knew that he couldn’t swim.”

“Niall,” Liam starts. He steps in close, getting into his friend’s personal space. He grips his shoulders tightly, making him look up to meet his eyes. A desperation he didn’t know he possessed gripped his heart. “What exactly are you saying?”

Niall’s crystal clear eyes met his. His hands came up to hold Liam’s.

“I’m sayin’ it was someone within the top tier. Liam, it was one of the Maliks who ordered the hit on Zayn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so cute. You have no idea what's about to happen.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed.

December greets Manhattan with rain. A heavy downpour that fit the somber mood that seemed to fill the city. 

Numerous empty bottles lined the countertop, their contents drained in an effort to abate the rising anxiety. Days are spent getting so wasted that they can sleep without nightmares. Doesn’t do a shit lot of good when they come anyways, leaving everyone breathless and panicked. It’s a vicious, never-ending cycle that no one seems inclined to break.

Liam knows that Zayn knows who ordered the hit, but he still hasn’t said a word as to who. Honestly, Liam can’t figure out who he’s trying to protect. 

He owes nobody his loyalty. Except maybe Liam. 

Regardless, the fighter pushes all negative thoughts out and takes another pull from the bottle of bourbon in his hand. Tastes like shit but he’s looking to get drunk, not for flavor. 

The front door is opened and Liam can’t even bring himself up to care about who it might be. Which, admittedly, speaks volumes about his level of intoxication right now. 

Zayn comes into the room, unwinding the scarf from around his throat. Liam runs an appreciative eye over him as the mobster continues to strip out of his jacket and boots. Unceremoniously, he drops onto the couch beside Liam, taking the bottle from his hand and curling up under his arm. 

The bruises are mostly faded and he’s ditched the cast, against the doctor’s advice. That being said, he’s popping painkillers like they’re going out of style. And Liam didn’t bother advising him against drinking with the pills because he knew that realistically, he would just be ignored. 

Together, they stared into the fireplace as it continued to rain. It would almost be relaxing if it wasn’t for the tension between them. 

Time passed at a crawl. Neither man said anything as they passed the bottle between them until it was empty. 

Liam was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice that the weight at his side had been getting heavier until he came back to reality and realized that Zayn had fallen asleep against him. Carefully, he lowered the other man until he was laying on the couch. He thought for sure that the mobster would’ve woken up but instead, he shifted until he was using his own arm for a pillow. 

The fighter smiled down at him fondly, unable to resist the urge to push his hair out of his face. Zayn’s hair was silky soft between his fingers and Liam grinned when the other man nuzzled into his touch. 

The warmth in his chest faded as he pulled away, whatever good mood he had acquired gone. He stumbled as he made his way towards his bedroom, steading himself against the wall. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that Zayn was still asleep. 

He shuts his door behind him, leaning against it for a moment. His chest feels heavy, the weight of his guilt suffocating him. 

Liam steels himself and crosses the room towards his bed. The light on his phone flashes. His heart somehow sinks lower. 

He flips the device over and sees that he has more than a few missed calls from his dad. His heart turns to ice and shatters on the floor. 

Quickly, he calls back, bile rising in his throat as he waits for his dad to pick up. 

“Hello?” Liam chokes on a sob. His dad’s normally gruff voice is raw with emotions that Liam refuses to name. 

“Dad?” Not the most eloquent of responses but it will have to do. 

“Oh, son.” Oh God. Oh no. 

Liam fights against the panic. “Dad, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” 

He can hear the older man sniffle and it does nothing to calm him. “It’s your mother. They, um, they can’t cure it. The cancer, it spread faster than they could stop it. They don’t anticipate her making it to the new year. She’s dying Liam.” 

And just like that, his entire world just…

Stops. 

Vaguely, he’s aware that his dad is still talking to him, but nothing he says registers. The words keep repeating themselves in his head. 

_The cancer…_

_It’s spread…_

_Won’t make it…_

_She’s dying._

It just sounds like a bad joke. The rest of the conversation passes in a blur. He can’t even remember hanging up, but distantly thinks of the promise he made that he’ll try to pick up the phone the next time she calls. 

But Liam knows, deep down, he won’t.

Time passes. He sits there, staring at the device in his hands. Wondering. 

He hears the knock at his door, but doesn’t acknowledge it. Doesn’t have to. It pushes open and someone enters, shutting the door quietly behind them. Their footsteps don’t make a sound as they cross his carpet. 

Gentle, but gun calloused hands hold his. He blinks and looks into the concerned eyes of his lover. All the emotion he felt earlier bubbles up but the tears don’t come. He chooses to not think about that. 

“My mom’s dying. Everything I’ve done for her, none of it matters now,” Liam says. His tone stays flat. Zayn’s grip tightens. He can't do this. 

“What do you need?” The honest sincerity in his voice twists a knife in his gut. He can't stay. A nervous energy is building up under his skin, making him want to lash out. He can't do this. 

“I need to be alone.” 

He pulls away and stands up. Without looking at Zayn, he walks out of his room. Out of the apartment. And into the night. 

~*~*~*~*~

Blood drips from his broken nose. A few of his teeth feels looser than before. Yet, Liam feels nothing. The roar of the crowd not registering with him. The air is still thick with smoke. He can't breath past the lump in his throat. 

His opponent teeters unsteadily. This won't last long. The nervous energy isn't abating. 

He swings wide, clipping the guy in the temple. He hits the ground hard. Dislocates his jaw. 

His knuckles throb. The lights are blinding. It’s all overwhelming. 

It’s the perfect distraction. Almost. It's close enough. 

The guy makes no move to get up. The ref checks his pulse. Then declares Liam the winner. It’s hollow, meaningless. 

He’s ready for the next fight. 

Out the corner of his eye, he can see Zayn’s brother in law sitting in the audience, sizing him up. Liam spits out the blood in his mouth. Puts his fists up. Meets Shayne's eyes head on with a glare. It adds to the tension. 

The next contender is little more of a challenge, though not by much. His foot work is sloppy. His punches feel like hummingbird wings, just barely brushing him. Liam can’t believe he’s wasting his time with these fuckers. But, that’s what he gets for suddenly wanting to fight completely unscheduled. Seriously. They were supposed to only take on guys who were worth the risk. **_Puppies_** would be more aggressive. 

The next round comes to a close faster than it started. Liam feels more than a little cheated. 

It was the last fight of the night. It wasn’t nearly satisfying enough. 

He wipes the blood from his face. Unwraps his hands. Leaves without collecting his winnings. 

Then he waits outside. 

Like decent gentlemen, they don’t make him wait long. Like they knew he wanted to… Speak, with them. 

Shayne Malik steps forward, all the grace of a fucking snake. Or, maybe, an oil spill. Liam wants to watch him choke on his own blood. 

His goons block the door, their guns in their hands. 

“Liam Payne, to what do I owe the pleasure of watching you fight?” Shayne says, like he doesn’t know what Liam is capable of. He fucking grins, a flash off white in the streetlights. Liam wants to rip his throat out. 

“I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from me. That includes the people I love. Like your fucking brother in law,” the fighter growls. 

The mobster has the _balls_ to laugh at him, like he doesn’t know how serious Liam is. 

“Honestly princess, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, opening his hands and spreading his arms wide.

“Yes, you fucking do. Do not play fucking stupid with me. You tried to have Zayn killed. Because he’s supposed to take over right? Leave you without a crew?” Liam snarls. 

Shayne just looks bored. “Listen, kid, I don’t know where you got your ‘facts’ from, but I didn’t, repeat, did not, order a hit on my brother in law. I love the little bastard. Plus his older sister would have my head if I did something to the scamp.” 

“You’re lying.”

Okay, now the mobster looks irritated. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. Now, why would I be lying to some punk ass kid, who has no dog in this fight, about family matters that don’t concern him? My words don’t mean shit to you, but they’re true. I didn’t try to kill Zayn. I’m not going to take over the family, nor do I care if I do. So you can crawl back to whatever hole you pulled yourself out of and fuck yourself with your ego. I have more important matters to attend to.”

“This isn’t over prick. You better watch your fucking back.” Liam growls, stepping forward. 

Shayne matches the move. “Was that a threat?” 

He takes another step. “You’ll damn well wish it was.”

They stare each other down. Shayne backs down first, like Liam knew he would. “Listen kid, I don’t know anything about the hit. Hell, I didn’t even hear about it until a few days ago. I don’t know who ordered it or anything. That being said, this goes a lot deeper than you might think. Take some friendly advice; back down while you still can. This family, when things go wrong, they go very wrong with far more collateral damage than you can imagine.” 

Liam narrows his eyes. “I’m not going to leave Zayn.” 

Shayne shrugs. “Then it’s your fucking funeral kid.”

And just like that, he saunters off, his goons in tow. 

The chill of the night begins to settle in his bones. Nothing was adding up. And as much as he was loathed to admit it, the man was right. This was a lot bigger than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #stillnotsorry


	17. Chapter 17

The lights are off when Liam finally comes home. He couldn’t bear the thought of coming back straight away after the fight, after Shayne’s confrontation. He couldn’t trust himself to keep his cool around Zayn. Couldn’t trust himself to not hurt him. Truthfully, he still can’t.

He kicks the door shut behind him, taking a long drag from the bottle of Jack in his hand. Blindly, he locks the door and then stumbles into the living room. With no clear destination in mind, he flops onto the couch, narrowly managing keep his bottle from spilling. 

With a light hiccup, he wondered idly if it was a bad idea that he had stopped at the liquor store before coming home. He then decided that he didn’t care and took another drink. 

The amber liquid splashed out of his mouth and landed on the cream rug. Liam stared at the spot blankly for a moment before reaching down and rubbing it into the carpet. He laid down horizontal on the couch, watching the ceiling until his eyes burn. He takes another drink, shuts his eyes, and lets himself drift. He lets himself float as time drags on. He just wants it to be morning already. 

Then he hears movement from the hallway. 

Liam opens his eyes and Zayn standing there, his expression unreadable. White hot anger flares in Liam’s chest before dying out almost immediately. It’s not Zayn’s fault that his family is a fucking mess. _After all, we are just the byproduct of our upbringing,_ Liam thinks bitterly. 

The mobster sits down by the fighter’s feet, his posture rigid and uncomfortable. Liam stares at him. The air between them is stilted and tense. Without warning, Zayn throws Liam’s phone at him. Something cold settles in his eyes. Liam keeps his mouth shut. 

“Your father called. Your mother passed,” Zayn states. He stands up again, his hands in fists at his side. 

It takes a moment for the words to completely register in his alcohol-addled brain. When they do, he leans his head back against the armrest, blinking at the ceiling again. 

It’s only been a few hours. 

“What does this matter to you?” he asks, casting a glance at the other man. He seems stunned at the question, and Liam finds small satisfaction in it. Unfortunately, it’s only a miniscule moment and passes quickly. He honestly can’t understand why the other man is so upset. It’s not like it’s his family. 

Zayn leaves, his footsteps quiet despite his obvious anger. Liam waits until he hears his own bedroom door quietly shut behind him. He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

He unlocks his phone, and sure enough, he has six missed calls. Only one was picked up. Hours after the others. Liam can’t bring himself to care, about the breach in privacy or the death in the family. 

He knew this was coming. 

After all, it was just a matter of time. 

The pain and grief he felt earlier is buried now, deeply numbed by the confrontation with Shayne and the alcohol. He can’t keep self-medicating, but for right now, that’s all he’s going to do. 

He takes another drink. And feels his anger build right back up. 

Liam slams the bottle onto the table and forces himself to his feet. He stumbles down the hallway and opens the door to his room. Zayn was waiting for him, standing by the window. 

“Where the fuck do you get off on being pissed about my mom dying? It isn’t your fucking problem,” Liam snarls, poking his finger into Zayn’s chest. The mobster knocks his hand away and shoves him back. 

“We’re together you dumb shit! Your problems are mine too. Did you fucking forget that? You never even mentioned that she was sick! I thought that you trusted me,” Zayn snaps. 

Liam is fully aware that he is far too drunk for this conversation, but he can’t bring himself to stop now that he’s started. His self-control has always been lacking, even more so when drunk. He cannot bring himself to regret his next words. 

“You think I don’t trust you? Seriously? You seriously think I don’t trust you? You’re fucking right I don’t trust you, you motherfucker! You don’t fucking trust me either! I love you so fucking much and you won’t let me help you! There’s a price on your head, and I know that you know who put it there!” Liam yells. 

“Are you fucking dense? I came to you for help!” Zayn snaps, stepping into his space and getting right up in his face. Liam copies the action, feeling grim satisfaction when he sees the other man cower just slightly. 

“Only when you were on the verge of death,” Liam snarls. He stabs his finger into Zayn’s chest and can feel how fast his heart is beating. “I don’t understand why you keep trying to protect them when they clearly don’t give a fuck about you.”

“Because they’re my family! You don’t turn your back on family.” 

Liam laughs. Something dark and twisted settles in his chest. “Are you for-fucking-real right now? Zayn, look around you. They _abandoned_ you. They don’t care about you. They tried to have you killed and yet, here you are. Still swearing your fucking loyalty to them. You’re like a beaten dog. They can hurt you all they want and you’ll still love them, still trust them. And you’ll still be surprised when they betray you in the end.”

Through the haze, he can see Zayn’s eyes grow brighter, his lower lip trembling. “You don’t understand,” he whispers, backing away from him. 

The fighter lets himself deflate a little, lets the anger fade to a bone deep weariness. “How could I?” he asks. He sits down on his bed, setting his head into his hand. Memories cross his mind, brief flashes of a happy childhood filled with love and warmth that he can barely find in his everyday life now. His late-teenage years are darker, filled with things like his mom’s diagnosis, trips to the hospital in the middle of the night, long conversations where nothing was said, an almost always empty house, unbridle anger leading to fights that lead to an eventual expulsion, a greyhound bus taking him from everything he’s ever known because he couldn’t bear to watch her suffer any longer. 

There’s still so much unsaid, things he needs to say but he just… 

Can’t. 

Liam lets his arm drop, raising his head a moment later. He sees Zayn rub his eyes, digging in the heel of his palm. He sees the other man fighting back tears and knows that he was a dick. Everything he said was so uncalled for. Even if it is true. 

He stands up and goes to his lover, pulling him into his arms. A small piece of him is grateful that the other man doesn’t fight him. 

Zayn’s body feels foreign to him as he holds him, reminding him of how much time has passed since the last time they actually touched. He continues to hold him as he pulls himself back together. 

“I’m sorry,” Liam whispers. His voice feels rough. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Zayn replies. He sighs. “I just want to go to bed.” 

Liam doesn’t verbally respond, just pulls the other man with him to the bed. He folds back the blanket and climbs in, holding the blanket up so the other will join him. They settle, close enough to share warmth but still not quite touching. 

The weight of what needs to be spoken lays between them. 

“I will tell you soon. I just can’t yet. I’m sorry, for everything.” Zayn whispers. 

Liam says nothing. While Zayn drops off almost immediately after, sleep eludes Liam until the sun comes up.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not my best work, but here's an update. 
> 
> Unbetaed.

His coffee is three hours cold, sitting just out of reach on the counter. Made to perfection and yet, he hasn’t taken more than a single sip. Actually, he hasn’t moved in the last two hours, just sitting, thinking thoughts. Liam’s head is in such a fucked up cloud he has no idea what he was even thinking about. 

Must’ve been important. 

The headache he woke up with wasn’t that big of a deal. Neither was the lingering grief from the phone call last night. No, the hangover from drinking pretty much all night didn’t compare to realizing that the other side of his bed was cold. Waking up a little more, he realized that his room was emptier than before. 

He looked everywhere, but. Well. There wasn’t a sign of Zayn anywhere. It was like he hadn’t even been there.

With a sigh, he rubbed his forehead, head throbbing. A key in the lock makes him look up, only for him to drop his head a moment later when Niall comes through. He looks about as wrecked as Liam feels. Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen him in a few days. He’s missed the Irish bastard. 

“Well, you look like shite,” Niall said cheerfully, sarcasm dripping from his words. He sets down the grocery bags he was carrying, almost knocking over Liam’s still full coffee. He moves it towards himself, cradling it like there might still be some warmth in the ceramic but nope. 

Niall pays him no mind as he sets about putting things away. He whistles a jaunty tune as he moves about the large kitchen, his actions almost normal if one could ignore the lingering tension in his shoulders. 

“Where have you been?” Liam asks, wincing at the roughness in his tone. Niall shoots him a curious look before turning back to his task, seemingly ignoring the question. Liam’s about to ask again when he speaks up. 

“I’ve been with ‘arry and Louis,” he says, hesitating a little more, slowing his actions. It takes a second for the words to register through the fog, and when they do, he does knock over the mug, spilling his drink everywhere. Niall jumps at the noise and squawks angrily at the mess. 

“What? Why? Do they know something? Why haven’t you told me about this before?” Liam asks, jumping up and grabbing his Irish friend. Niall bats him away, shoving the roll of paper towels into his hands. 

“Oi! Hold yer fucking horses mate! We don’t know anything yet. No names have been coming up. There’s just been a lot of rumors and hush hush behind closed doors. There’s nothing concrete yet. Louis got in contact with someone in deep cover inside the family who’s doing a little digging on their own. Beyond that, we really have nothing,” Niall said, shoving him towards the mess. 

Liam begins wiping it up, mind racing. Well, racing to the best of its abilities considering the near constant throbbing happening behind his eyes. How can they not know anything? It’s been months by now. Surely something’s come up. What is it that he could be missing? 

His phone begins vibrating, but he isn’t paying attention. So Niall swipes it up and answers it. His neutral expression falls into one of concern and worry and what might be pity mixed with a touch of anger. Liam tunes into the conversation just enough to catch the clipped “alright, I’ll tell him. I’m sorry about your loss.” 

Oh. Yeah. 

That happened. 

“Your mother fucking died. And you didn’t tell me,” Niall states, his voice flat. Liam winces, because yeah. Probably should’ve mentioned that. “The funeral is Saturday. But you don’t have to go, you’ve already done your part.” 

Shit. 

“Shit,” Liam states, setting down the wet paper towel. His eyes are burning. He feels mildly sick. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Niall asks, tone unreadable still. 

“Because, I got the call that she was getting worse and wouldn’t make it to the New Year. And then, a few hours later, I apparently got another call that she didn’t make it. So, I guess the doctors were right,” Liam replies, a little numb now. It’s a bit of a clusterfuck of emotion. Of course, none of which can be named. 

Niall stares blankly at him. “What do you mean ‘apparently’?” he inquires. He must sense what a live wire Liam is right now because he makes no move to approach him. He can respect that. 

“I didn’t get the call. It was Zayn who answered.” 

Visibly startled, although Liam has no idea why because Niall knows that Zayn had been staying there for the last few weeks, Niall steps closer. 

“What do you mean that Zayn is the one who answered?” he presses. Liam stares at him like he’s stupid. 

“What do you think I mean dipshit? I didn’t hear my phone, Zayn did. So he answered it. We got into a fight. We didn’t make up. And he was gone when I got up this afternoon,” Liam states.

Niall flusters. His pale skin flushes red as he begins to pace, ignoring the bag sitting unpacked on the counter. Needing to do something to not come out of his own skin, Liam begins to put the items away as Niall continues to panic. 

“How do ya know he wasn’t lyin’ to ya?” Niall finally asks, stopping Liam when he tried to move past him. 

Liam can’t help but give him an incredulous look. “Really? You _just_ talked to my dad on the phone. Believe it or not, he didn’t lie to me.” 

Niall conceded with a muttered “true”. He took Liam’s place at the counter, propping his head up with his hand under his chin. “But do ya really trust him?” 

The fighter holds the box of pasta in his hands, the act of putting it away cut short by the question. He stares at it like it holds the answers to the universe in its dark blue packaging. He’s pondered this question for so long now. The weight of it makes him feel heavy. With a sigh, he sets the box into the cupboard. He keeps his gaze in the darkened space as he answers.

“No. I don’t trust him.” 

~*~*~*~

It reeks of sweet tobacco and cheap whiskey inside the X when Liam finally makes it there the next evening. It’s still pretty early, so most of the patrons are just day drinkers. Leigh-Anne waves him over to the bar when she spots him. 

He puts on an easy smile when he sees her, feeling better about seeing a familiar face outside this twisted mess. She leans on the bar, putting her breasts on full display. Liam raises an eyebrow at her as she shrugs innocently at him. Her grin is too predatory to make it believable. 

“Hey there handsome. And what can I do for you?” she says flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes excessively. Liam definitely feels his eyebrow go higher. 

“Let me guess, Perrie’s home?” he asks. She laughs as she nods. Whelp, that would explain her unusually good mood towards him. There’s never been bad blood between them, but there has definitely been more than a little tension. Unusually because he’s been injured in some way or another and needs her help to get patched up. 9 times out of 10 he makes her late so. There’s that. 

“Yeah, she just got back last night. I’ve missed her so much. It’s nice having her home again,” Leigh-Anne says, her eyes sparkling at the mention of her longtime girlfriend. Liam smiles, happy that someone else’s love life seems to be going better than his at the moment. 

She pulls herself out of her daze with a shake of her head. “I’m being a terrible bartender. What can I get you?” 

Liam takes a seat, folding his arms against the polished surface. “A whiskey on the rocks. Two fingers please.” She sets about making his drink, throwing a curious look over her shoulder. 

“You know,” she starts, “I never took you for a day drinker.” Her back’s to him as she pours the alcohol over the ice, but he can see her eyes flickering towards him every so often. She turns and sets the drink in front of him, then leans on the bar again to stage-whisper to him, “I think you’re having trouble in the love department.” 

He snorts into the drink as he takes a sip. “Is it that fucking obvious?” 

With a fake sympathetic wince, she nods. “Yeah, it kind of is.” Liam sighs.

“Of course it is.”

Gently, she lays a hand on his arm. “Do you want to talk about it?” He shakes his head. “You sure?” He nods. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you or your judgement. It’s just, well, it’s complicated and dangerous. I don’t want you to get involved and then get hurt because you knew something. Sorry Leigh-Anne, it’s nothing personal.”

Worry colors her features, marring her face with a frown. “Did you get involved with the mob?” she asks, only half kidding. The look on his face is answer enough. Her eyes widen before she sighs, shoulders slumping. “Of course you did. So, what happened?” 

Liam takes a small sip, letting the alcohol sit on his tongue a bit before swallowing it, trying to think of the right way to say it, if there even was one. “I got into a fight with his family and he thought it was funny. From there, it was a bit of a downward spiral, ya know?” he says, keeping it as vague as he can. 

She wipes down the bar, lips pursed as she pondered his ‘tale’. “And you can’t just walk away?” He shakes his head. Her tongue pokes out the corner of her mouth, brow furrowed in thought. “You can’t walk away, or he won’t let you?” A very pointed question. 

He fondles his glass again. “If I want to, I can.”

“But you don’t want to.” It’s not a question. 

He throws his drink back, grimacing at the bitter taste. He checks around to make sure no one’s listening in. No one is but his paranoia runs deep. He’s been wrong before. “Believe it or not, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I mean, I should’ve known better but.” He cuts himself off. He’s not even sure what he’s trying to say anymore. Why he’s trying to defend himself. He’s had so many opportunities to walk away and yet, he didn’t take any of them. He has no one to blame but himself. 

“But your heart got involved.” Leigh-Anne finishes, a sad smile on her face. A tiny bit stunned, Liam nods because that’s pretty close to accurate. “That sucks babe.” 

He rubs his thumb along the glass, drawing a line in the condensation with a sad smile on his face. “Yeah, it kind of does.” 

~*~*~*~

He stays until happy hour, only consuming one more drink in the meantime. As soon as the evening crowd starts gathering, he pays his bill and bids farewell. Leigh-Anne had provided pleasant company once they dropped the topic of his love life. It was nice not having to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. Not that he really has before now but… It’s the principle. It was just nice not having the unpleasant anxiety that seems to be plaguing all other aspects of his life recently hanging about him for a little while. 

Liam pulls up the collar of his coat as the brisk wind cuts through him. Despite that, and the slight drizzle that threatens to turn heavy at any moment, it’s not a terrible walk. He takes the long way home. 

It doesn’t take long for him to lose himself in thought. He keeps on in a steady direction, even as the weather takes a turn for the worse. Before long, he finds himself in unknown, but familiar, territory.

In spite of it being mid-December, this street remains quiet, almost no cars passing by. The streetlamps bathe the road in a pale yellow warmth, illuminating the rainfall. Across the street from him is the hotel with no name out front, looking as cold and uninviting as it did when he first visited all that time ago. 

A lone black car pulls up in front of the building. The doorman rushes forward and opens the door, holding up the umbrella. Even from this distance Liam can see Zayn step out, expression blank and his appearance impeccable. 

The man in question pauses, barely turning towards him. Liam knows, subconsciously probably, that he shouldn’t be here. Yet, he does nothing to hide. 

(As if he could. He’s standing underneath a fucking streetlamp. Kind of hard to miss unless you’re actively ignoring your environment.) 

They make eye contact. A thousand words pass between them, but not a single one understood. 

Zayn turns his back on him, heading into the building with a purpose. There’s a tension to him that Liam can’t be the only one picking up on. The car pulls away as soon as he’s inside. The doorman resumes his post. Like nothing had just happened. 

Liam continues to stand in the rain, his wool coat growing heavier with each passing minute. He couldn’t say what compelled him to stay, only that he needed to. He’s almost ready to give up, draw the conclusion that his gut was playing a trick on him, when it happened.

Through the monotonous pitter patter of the rain, four gunshots in rapid succession break the quiet of the night. 

So Liam continues to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think :)


End file.
